


Gone (are the Days)

by CocksAndClocks



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claudia and Soren are in college, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Harrow and Viren make up I promise, Light Angst, M/M, Medium Burn, Multi, Past Character Death, Pining, Plot With Porn, Sexual Tension, Unreliable Narrator, Viren can't get over his past but his kids are determined to make him in any way they can, Viren is pretty much a bottom but he likes to pretend he's not, Viren tries to get over someone and falls for someone else and hates the entire process, but they're stubborn and haven't been shoved in their getalong shirt yet so they argue a lot, mage fam shenanigans, maybe a slow burn? definitely not a fast burn, viravos is endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Viren lives a comfortable life – happy children, distinguished professorship, beautiful house – but his past is never far behind him. A tragedy forces his heart to confront years of conflict, and to decide if he can leave behind the person he’s placed above all others. Fortunately, a new and beautiful colleague may provide enough of a distraction for Viren to move on…
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Harrow/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 217
Kudos: 212





	1. These Days are Numbered

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, TDP fandom! We're new here and humbly offer this fic as tribute. Thank you in advance for reading. 💖
> 
> “There's always hope  
> Hope in death  
> It brands these bonds  
> Refines the rest  
> But these days are numbered  
> This life absolute  
> I need this faith to keep me walking  
> To keep me alive
> 
> Oh darling, oh darling  
> Won't you please take me home  
> Oh darling, my sweet darling  
> Won't you please keep me warm”
> 
> \- “These Days Are Numbered”, The Head and the Heart

They predicted rain that day. It didn’t come. 

The funeral progressed despite it, in spite of it, the weather that should have crowned a day of grief but – like the life they mourned – was absent. 

Viren stood behind the family in his dark suit, hands clasped uselessly on the staff in front of him, watching the first handful of soil hit the gleaming casket, the dull noise echoing back up to the ears of the living.

He heard Claudia sniffle beside him and his hands twitched, as though his body knew to reach for her even while his mind forced his stillness. 

He hardly knew why he was even here.

Of course – the funeral, respects, support for his children, who took the loss heavier than he did – there were reasons.

There were just as many to avoid the entire thing.

Sarai had always disliked him – and who could blame her, really? She had her reasons, and even Viren admitted, as he watched the polished casket lid begin to vanish under the earth, his children’s sniffles mixed with those of Harrow’s –

Sarai had been right about a lot of things, Viren included.

But that part of his life was over, even as hers was over, and there was no reason to begrudge her now. 

There never had been.

No, Viren came to support Soren and Claudia and –

Harrow held his children closely as the last prayer faded into the spring morning, the sky cloudless and clear. Viren wondered when the storm would hit. That night, perhaps.

For now, sun. It struck Harrow’s dark skin and he seemed to glow under it, even while his tears mingled with his sons’. 

_Why am I here?_

“I’m going to talk to Callum,” Claudia said, wiping at her eyes.

Viren lifted his eyes to hers to indicate he heard, but she remained, returning the look.

_Don’t ask._

“Don’t you want to say something?” she whispered. “To Uncle Harrow?”

Viren almost flinched at the nickname, despite the years he had heard it.

“Not now,” he said. “He doesn’t need me.”

The words settled in his gut, making himself sick with the heaviness.

Claudia nodded and wandered off. 

Viren kept his distance. He owed that much to Harrow, for their past friendship, their current…whatever it was they were.

For what they could have been.

Viren mourned that even as Harrow mourned his wife.

Callous, perhaps, but impossible to avoid. Harrow had always been impossible to avoid, no matter which of them were married.

For that, and much more, Viren owed him one morning of unquestioned support.

He turned away from the grave, Soren following silently behind him. Perhaps they could avoid the reception altogether, the unnecessary apologies for being here when Viren knew Sarai wouldn’t want him to be, the stifling silences that followed the obligatory condolences.

It was all so exhausting, the emotions that came with living.

He felt a touch on his shoulder and his eyes widened when Harrow fell into view. Viren hated him in black – it did him a disservice, not being in something bright and vibrant, something that reflected all the life and warmth within him.

“Viren,” he said, the softness of his voice drawing Viren closer. “Old friend. You came.”

_Old friend._

A painful truth.

“Of course,” Viren said, clearing the sentiment from his throat. “How could I not come?”

Harrow merely smiled, his eyes creased with sadness and perhaps even a touch of comfort. 

“I’m sorry,” Viren said, apologizing – as always – for something he couldn’t help. “I’m sorry that I…wasn’t there.”

Harrow’s smile faded, eyes widening in their place. “Viren, there was no way you could have been.”

“But you could have called me,” Viren said, the words escaping them of their own will. “I could have come to the hospital sooner, I could have – ”

“Viren.”

His name, spoken softly, telling him – kindly – to shut up.

“You think there’s a solution to all problems, my friend,” Harrow said, his smile crooked as he shook his head. “I’ve missed that about you.”

_I’ve missed you too._

“I admit that I didn’t think you would be happy to see me,” Viren said. “’Friend.’ It’s not a word we’ve used in some time.”

“I never stopped using it.”

“No,” Viren said, the word turning bitter the moment it touched air. “It wasn’t hard for you to keep it.”

“Viren,” Harrow said, and Viren grit his teeth against the smoothness of his name on Harrow’s lips, the soft purring of the syllables that made him ache for times long past. “Can’t we be friends again, after all this?”

Viren glanced up to where Claudia and Soren stood with Callum and Ezran, Claudia’s hand on Callum’s shoulder.

_Friends._

A joke that wasn’t funny.

“I…don’t know if I can,” Viren said.

Ten years ago, Viren wouldn’t have been so honest. Harrow’s face, the frank timbre of his voice, the comforting touch on Viren’s shoulder –

He would lie. To Harrow, to himself.

His needs were always second to Harrow’s.

But now, in front of their children, Sarai’s casket –

Honesty and death.

A dramatic description of his choice, but one that felt true.

“Do you really trust me so little?” Harrow asked, his voice deepening with concern.

Viren considered the question.

_Do I?_

Perhaps more than Viren trusted himself, but he wondered exactly how much more.

“It’s myself I don’t trust.”

He almost flinched at his own lie.

“Would you object to starting anew?”

Viren stared.

How does one simply erase a history?

“No,” Viren said, hearing his agreement as though from very far away. “We can…try. But Harrow – I need boundaries. We can’t carry on as before.”

“My friend, that was years ago. A lifetime ago.”

A fact, and yet one Viren did not feel.

“We can talk about it after…this,” Harrow said. “For now, let me just lean on a friend for support.”

“A friend,” Viren repeated, nodding – an act he felt was necessary for his own reassurance. “I can offer that much.”

And as Harrow leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, Viren’s stomach fluttered with a lifetime of repressed memories, of the struggle to disallow the past to flood back in.

*

The drive home was silent, Claudia wiping at her eyes now and again, Soren in the backseat on his phone, making a face at it as they pulled into the driveway.

“Something wrong?” Viren asked, certain he would regret the answer.

“Shouldn’t have had that last mini cream puff at the reception,” Soren said, sighing.

“I’m sure you didn’t ‘blow your micros’ too badly,” Viren said dryly, the car beeping when he locked it.

_”Macros,_ Dad. Macros. Gods, this family is full of nerds.” Soren stretched his arms and shoulders as Viren struggled with the house keys in the dim light. “Gotta get up early and go for a run to make up for it.”

“Aren’t you training tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yeah, but Coach is a hardass, so I gotta keep my ass hard.” Soren gave them a winning grin, Viren rolling his eyes as they entered the house, thunder rumbling behind them.

“What sport are you playing now? Football?”

“Dad, football is in the winter. It’s _baseball_ season. And lacrosse.”

Viren hadn’t the slightest idea of what lacrosse was, but he was too tired to hear another lecture about the supposed merits of throwing a ball through a hoop. 

“I used to play golf in the spring when I was in college,” he said offhandedly, the memories stirred up by the afternoon spent with Harrow.

“Great, Dad. Really nailing the father-son thing. Totally not a nerd sport.”

Claudia managed a quiet laugh and even Viren felt the heaviness of the day lift slightly.

“Anyone else hungry?”

“Geez, Soren, you ate like half the sandwiches at the reception.”

“Gotta get those _gains,_ Clauds.”

Viren followed them into the kitchen, not hungry but considering a cup of tea – or something stronger – to ward off the confusion that the funeral lent him. As though reading his mind, Claudia immediately put the kettle on, Soren’s upper half disappearing into the refrigerator as he rummaged.

“You think this tuna salad is still good?” he asked, sniffing at a Tupperware cautiously.

Viren couldn’t recall the last time he had gone grocery shopping and certainly couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked, eating only when Claudia brought him something or when he brought home takeout on late nights.

“I’ll chance it,” Soren announced, digging noisily for a fork.

“Tea, Dad?”

“Thank you,” Viren said, leaning against the countertop, content to simply be with his children, unwilling to leave them for the solitude of his bedroom.

Claudia took down two mugs and glanced back at him, her brows furrowed.

She looked remarkably like her mother when she did.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Are you upset about something, Dad?”

“We just came from a funeral, Clauds,” Soren said around a mouth of tuna. “Pretty sure everyone was.”

“I meant something _else,_ genius. Other than Aunt Sarai.”

Viren shifted on his feet before he could suppress the action. 

“Now that you mention it,” Soren said, “Dad always did hate Aunt Sarai.”

“I don’t – didn’t – hate her,” Viren said, indignation crushed by the correction of tense. “We had…a lot of personal differences.”

“Dunno, Dad,” Soren said. “I think bangin’ the same guy is a big similarity.” 

Viren stared for a long moment in utter disbelief, certain Soren hadn’t said exactly what he had.

Then he felt a great heat rise up his neck.

“I didn’t – I never – ”

“It was like the _worst_ kept family secret, Dad.”

Viren looked at Soren helplessly, his face hot, very aware of Claudia’s eyes on him.

“I…it wasn’t like that.”

Soren and Claudia stared, one skeptical, the other concerned.

Viren swallowed. “Not exactly.”

“Dad?” Claudia said, the syllable a question of worry.

Viren considered putting a stop to the conversation right then and there, refusing to be roped into this confession, but the energy to deflect it all after seeing Harrow again had left him, evaporated in the heat of his blush.

Besides, Soren and Claudia were in college now. They were old enough to handle his dirty secrets.

Viren wet his lips, wishing the kettle would scream an interruption.

“We weren’t…involved after he met Sarai.”

“See?” Soren said, motioning at Claudia with his fork. “Mom was right.”

Viren frowned; he had never spoken a word of his feelings for Harrow to their mother and he would be damned if she was spreading the rumor herself. “What did your mother tell you?”

“That you were more in love with Uncle Harrow than her,” Soren declared.

Silence fell, Viren too tired to reach for an excuse, to tell them it was a lie.

Instead, he sighed, deflated against the counter.

“Oh, Dad...” Claudia’s voice was an exhale of concern. Sympathy.

Pity.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Viren grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Come on, it’s not like anyone else has an interesting love life, unless Callum finally asked Claudia out.”

Claudia turned pink, whirling toward her brother. “We were at a _funeral,_ Soren!”

“It’s a prime time to ask someone out! Girls get all sad and clingy at funerals. It’s science.”

“I didn’t. And Callum isn’t a girl.”

“He’s a nerd. Close enough.”

Viren rubbed his eyes harder, seeing spots appear, now wishing he _had_ gone upstairs.

Wasn’t the damn tea ready yet?

“Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if Uncle Harrow gets sad and lonely and comes crawling back to Dad.”

Viren’s head shot up, shooting an automatic glare at his son. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was years ago.”

Claudia gave him a long, sympathetic look. “And you don’t have feelings for him anymore?”

“Of course not. He is a dear friend. Nothing more.”

“Bullshit.”

“Soren!” Viren and Claudia’s rebuke came together.

“You’re saying that if Uncle Harrow showed up at the door, sad and declaring his love, you wouldn’t go for it?”

“No,” Viren said, his voice cold.

_Of course not._

The kettle began to murmur in unison with the roll of thunder outside.

Soren shrugged, tossing the empty Tupperware into the sink. “All right. If you say so. Well, I’m off to bed. Early morning and all.”

Viren watched him saunter from the kitchen with a sinking feeling in his stomach as though _he_ had eaten bad tuna salad.

“Soren!” Claudia shouted after him. “I told you not to leave dishes in the sink!”

She scowled at the doorway for a moment, the kettle growing louder before she took it from the heat.

“Sorry,” she said, steam rising from the mugs as she placed one in front of Viren. “I didn’t mean to drag all that from you. Not tonight. You just looked…sad.”

“It _was_ a funeral, Claudia,” Viren said, with the hint of a smile.

“Don’t,” she said, her body quivering slightly as she repressed a giggle. “Don’t make me laugh at funeral jokes, Dad.”

“It’s all right,” he said, watching his tea bag float lazily in the hot water. “It would have come out eventually. These things always do. And you and Soren are old enough to know.”

Claudia nodded. “I have…questions.”

“I know.”

She fell silent, digesting the day with him.

“We’ll have another talk,” Viren said. “Not tonight. Take a few days and process.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’m heading up to read for a bit. Are you okay on your own?”

“I always am.”

Claudia smiled, leaning in to offer him a one-armed hug, following her brother upstairs.

The kitchen was very quiet.

Viren gave a long sigh, wishing he was strong enough to have asked Claudia to stay a few minutes longer. He sipped his tea, the ghosts of memories turning the evening cold, the thunder outside growling louder, closer.

_Dad always did hate Aunt Sarai._

Of course that wasn’t true.

Viren didn’t hate her. He never even considered her in the way of things.

The truth was that Harrow had always been clear about their relationship. Harrow, the man who wore his heart on his sleeve, who ruled his life by his heart’s morals, who placed feelings above reason so frequently that Viren scarcely understood him at times –

Yet it was Viren who let his emotions ruin them.

_Does anyone actually appreciate irony?_

He ran a hand through his hair, repressing a noise of frustration. 

Tea wasn’t going to cut it tonight.

Viren opened the pantry, crouching to peer at the back of the bottom shelf. He drank even less than he ate, but surely even he had something reserved for truly bad days –

He pulled a dusty bottle from behind a stack of canned goods, blowing the label clean. Wine, unlike him, was better with age, wasn’t it? He squinted at the name, lips parting in surprise.

_Harrow and Sarai, May 3rd._

A bottle given as a gift, more than ten years hidden away in the back of a dark pantry.

Viren’s stomach knotted.

He straightened, positive that he needed a drink now more than ever, digging in the drawer until he found the forgotten corkscrew.

Everything about this day was miserable.

He poured the wine haphazardly, uncertain how much was appropriate in terms of a polite pour versus the misery he wished to ease, and decided he didn’t care.

The ghosts of dead memories remained, so strong he could almost see them.

Viren and Harrow in college, the cliché of it, the outgoing jock who roped the awkward nerd into his popular social circle, Viren making friends almost effortlessly for the first time in his life. Viren doing normal college things because of Harrow – parties and drinks and actually _living_ between study sessions. Harrow, who sometimes looked at Viren as though seeing something no one else did – kissing him one night when they parted ways.

Harrow instigated it – Viren would have never had the spine. Friendship turned friendship with benefits, Harrow always calling it anything but romantic. Viren’s acceptance of that arrangement had always been with the caveat of wishing for more, fundamentally unfair to them both.

The two graduated together – Harrow with a political degree and Viren in magical studies. They never spoke of their physical relationship again.

Viren never stopped thinking about it.

And years later, Viren working two or three jobs as an adjunct professor while Harrow effortlessly earned an administrative position at the prestigious Katolis university, calling Viren when they had an opening in the Magics Department.

Viren, an associate professor, working long hours to earn tenure, with a young wife and children, an activist for the practical application of controversial magic. Harrow visited often, their easy friendship resuming from their college days. Viren, still very in love with him, kept his distance in that regard, hoping to be what his wife and children deserved.

Viren, earning tenure and a divorce the same year, his wife unable to compete with his unresolved feelings –

The first glass of wine was gone and he couldn’t remember drinking it, fifteen years of his life haunting him, pulling him back, reminding him that almost nothing had changed.

How could he move forward when he loved an anchor?

His head felt lighter with the wine, the slideshow in his mind dispelling. He poured another, wondering how many before he risked a headache in the morning –

He almost didn’t hear the knock at the door, thunder rumbling over the house, rain thrashing at the windows. He stood and listened, moving automatically when the sound repeated.

_You’re saying that if Uncle Harrow showed up at the door –_

A dangerous wish, one that he wanted as much as he knew it would destroy him.

And yet – of course – there he was, at Viren’s threshold, dripping wet as the rain shrieked past the them, a chill running through Viren instantly.

He couldn’t hear what Harrow said over the roar of thunder, his face briefly illuminated by lightning.

_Does anyone actually appreciate irony?_

“You’re an absolute mess,” Viren muttered, taking Harrow’s arm and dragging him inside, closing the door against the world that protested loudly against them. “What are you doing out in this?”

“I’m sorry,” Harrow said, his voice low. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

Viren stared at him for a moment, soaked jacket and shirt, clothes and hair dripping audibly in the silence. Only then he realized he was still holding the wine glass, and he gave a sardonic laugh.

“Only if drinking with ghosts is considered company.”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind. Let’s get you a towel and something dry to wear.”

“And perhaps a glass of that, to warm my insides,” Harrow said, with a quiet chuckle. “I know my way around, Viren. Would you object if I borrowed a bathrobe?”

“…no, please. Help yourself.”

They stood awkwardly in the entryway for a moment more, Viren keenly aware that Harrow was here for a reason and he couldn’t be certain as to what that reason was.

Comfort, likely. Looking for a friend on a very bad day.

The rest –

“I’ll get you a glass,” Viren said.

Harrow’s lips twitched as he kicked off flooded shoes, and Viren turned away, not masochistic enough to watch anything more.

Viren’s glass was empty a second time when Harrow reappeared on the stairs, clad in a plush steel-colored robe, hair toweled messily dry. He gave Viren a smile meant for no one else.

Viren poured another glass of wine.

“Thank you,” Harrow said. “I apologize for intruding on you so late.”

“It’s not too late,” Viren said.

Harrow met his eyes as he took the offered glass. 

“Hmm,” he said, neither agreement or dissent. “I came because – well, the kids are asleep and Amaya is there, and I just…”

_Needed me._

“…I couldn’t stand to be in the house.”

“Ah,” Viren said.

“And I thought – I didn’t think. I just came here.”

Viren nodded. 

“I’m pushing things, aren’t I?”

Viren glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“Showing up unannounced, wearing your bathrobe, drinking your wine.”

“We’re friends, Harrow. What’s mine is yours.”

Viren was tipsy enough to wonder if he meant that as more than face-value, but Harrow shook his head and he lost his train of thought.

“You always were determined to be my friend,” Harrow said.

“You started it.”

Harrow laughed, the melancholy in it almost disappearing. “I did. I started…most things.”

Viren drank his wine and said nothing, not trusting his tongue.

“This is good, by the way. I didn’t think you drank wine.”

“I don’t,” Viren said. “Not really. This – ”

_Oh._

But Harrow had already noticed the bottle, his face darkening.

“I’m sorry,” Viren spluttered. “I found it and I – ”

“Don’t apologize,” Harrow said quietly, picking up the bottle, fingers tracing the label tenderly. “It’s a perfect night for it.”

“Harrow – ”

“Do you know why she crashed?” Harrow offered, placing the bottle back on the counter. 

Viren didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that and so say nothing, waiting for Harrow to answer it himself.

“It was because of you.”

Viren’s throat closed around the questions that immediately rose up, and so he remained silent still.

“I had mentioned something about work, about you, and she…” Harrow sighed. “You two never could get along, could you? She warned me, every chance she had, that you weren’t my friend. She called you selfish. Plotting against our marriage.”

“I never – ”

Viren felt the indignation boil and just as quickly begin to cool in the wine, in the exhaustion of the day. 

_Is that true? Did I?_

“I…I tried very hard not to. I told you how things were, offered to step aside and walk away, and you – you obstinate _fool.”_

The insult slipped through wine-loose lips but Viren refused to apologize for it, turning a glare on the man who had always defied his own title of _friend._

“Obstinate,” Harrow repeated, with half a smile. “You’re probably right about that. We argued about you a lot. I always defended you, until the mere mention of you caused her to run a red light.”

_Oh._

The statement made Viren’s stomach twist, responsibility for something he couldn’t control, blamed for merely existing – 

“This isn’t my fault,” Viren said fiercely. “I won’t let you blame me for this.”

“I didn’t come to blame you, Viren. You’ve won, after all. She’s gone.”

Viren pushed his chair back, his face warm, blood thin and rushed, the wine in it making it faster, hotter.

“That isn’t fair,” he snapped, his blood racing now, offended by the number of accusations that _this_ is what he had always wanted.

Sarai gone wouldn’t shift those feelings to Viren. Sarai didn’t deserve either one of them, and yet they were the only two left now – 

“I never wanted – ”

Harrow caught his wrist and Viren’s words evaporated, his eyes following the movement of Harrow’s face as he drew nearer.

The expression was one Viren knew from memories, from fever-blooded evenings after college football games, after one too many drinks at their fraternity – 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Harrow said, his breath hot on Viren’s lips. 

“Don’t,” Viren said, struggling weakly against Harrow’s hands. “You don’t want this. You’re grieving. You need comfort.”

“So comfort me, Viren,” Harrow whispered, releasing him to run his fingers along Viren’s cheek, against his beard.

Viren’s eyes closed against the touch, warm fingertips leaving marks behind.

_This doesn’t mean anything._

It never did.

Not to Harrow.

Harrow’s lips followed his fingers, the first press soft, not exactly familiar after so long, but heavy with nostalgia, with grief, with –

Viren pressed back almost immediately, grabbing Harrow’s hip and pulling him closer, his blood alight in an instant, a strong hand on the small of his back, pushing, until Viren felt all of Harrow against him.

It had been _so_ long, since Harrow, since anyone, since someone had looked at Viren like he was the only person that mattered – 

_This doesn’t mean anything._

Harrow pulled his mouth away, panting, eyes bright as he studied Viren’s flushed face.

It _did_ mean something, the way Harrow looked at him, the way Harrow needed him.

How could he regret offering help, even if it hurt him?

Harrow leaned forward and Viren moved in for the kiss that didn’t come; instead, Harrow put his lips against Viren’s ear, the whisper causing him to shiver.

“You remember what to do,” he said.

Viren swallowed, his face pleading.

“I want you upstairs,” he breathed, “and on your knees.”

Viren’s feet moved automatically when Harrow pulled him toward the stairs.

Giving Harrow everything he wanted had always been automatic.


	2. Heartburn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well I guess what hurt me most of all  
> You were playing with my heart  
> Tell me why am I emotional  
> When I knew it from the start
> 
> And tell me why does my heart burn  
> When I see your face?  
> You have made your decision  
> Put me in my place  
> And the lies you've been hiding  
> Taking up your space  
> Tell me why does my heart burn this way  
> When I see your face, when I see your face”
> 
> \- “Heartburn”, Wafia

He was alone in the morning.

Viren regarded the bed with sleep-crusted eyes, unsurprised by the emptiness of it all.

What remained where the hazy memories, the hollow aches of Viren’s body, the sunlight that broke through the curtains and last night’s storm.

Alone.

Always alone.

_When will I stop willingly playing his fool?_

He slipped his legs from the sheets and reached for his discarded robe, pausing.

_What if it smells like him?_

He left it on the floor, digging in his drawers for fresh pajamas, safer for the scent of sterile detergent.

The kitchen wasn’t empty, Soren lifting curious eyes up at his arrival.

_No small mercies today._

“If you’re looking for Uncle Harrow, he left already,” Soren said, shoveling Greek yogurt into his mouth.

“Oh.” Viren fell silent, his neck warming.

_Caught red-handed._

First, his secret laid bare to his children, and then he himself – 

“Come on, Dad.”

“What?” Viren asked, indignant before he knew why.

“She literally _just_ died.”

“I – it – ”

_It what? Wasn’t what it looked like? Of course it was._

“It wasn’t my idea,” Viren muttered instead, the heat on his throat rising to his cheeks.

Soren shrugged, shaking his head. “But you didn’t say no.” He pointed his spoon at Viren. “You’re his slut, Dad.”

“Soren!” Claudia’s disapproving voice broke in, her robe-clad figure standing in the doorway. “Can we keep that language down until I’ve had coffee?”

Soren watched her press the button on the espresso machine. “Ask Dad. Uncle Harrow spent the night.”

Claudia whirled, her face contorted into concern and disappointment. “Oh, Dad...”

“Can we drop it?” Viren said, raising his voice. “What’s done is done. It won’t happen again.”

“It will if he asks,” Soren said around the yogurt in his mouth. “‘Cuz you’re his slut.”

“Soren!” Viren and Claudia rebuked together.

“You gotta break the cycle, Dad,” Soren said, undeterred by their tone. “He’s not buying the farm because he’s getting the milk for free.”

Claudia’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think that’s – ”

“I’m not talking about this,” Viren said hotly, “with my _children.”_

“Soren does have a point,” Claudia said, “in his own way. Are you guys… _together_ together?”

Viren sighed, the exhale ending with the hint of the groan he suppressed. “No,” he said. “It didn’t mean anything. Harrow is struggling through immense grief, and I was – ”

“Horny,” Soren declared.

_“Lonely,_ Viren said, too loudly.

“But,” Claudia said, “it meant something to you, Dad.” The remark was given with the offer of a steaming cup of coffee, which Viren took hesitantly. 

“Yes,” he said. “It…always means something to me.”

Claudia stared at him with troubled eyes, even Soren’s face tensing as he scraped at the bottom of his yogurt cup with more violence than usual.

_Oh,_ Viren realized suddenly. _They’re…worried about me._

The thought lent some warmth to the morning, and he managed a small smile.

“That’s enough long faces,” Viren said. “I don’t need you two spending today wallowing in my problems. Harrow and I are adults, and we’ll talk this out like adults.”

_Like we’ve talked it out all these years?_

Viren waved his own objection away. “Claudia, are you coming with me today?”

“Of course!” she said, a grin spreading over her face. “’The best remedy for grief is work!’”

Viren chuckled at her imitation of him. “Soren, let me know when your next game is.”

Soren paused with the yogurt cup in hand, the trash bin open. “You…want to come?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Soren’s grin took up most of his face. “Oh, man, Dad, we’re playing our rivals next weekend. Startin’ in the hot corner, so it’ll be a killer game.”

“Er,” Viren said, glancing at Claudia for a translation, who shrugged uselessly. “Yes, that sounds – fun.”

But Soren continued to grin, and Viren attempted to match it, hoping that researching against his immense confusion regarding sports would at least distract him from his obvious defects in other places.

*

Viren found the calm of Katolis University soothing, the campus still empty for spring break. He and Claudia bought coffee from the half-asleep student worker across from their building, walking in comfortable silence before the start of a long day at work.

There was always work.

Viren brightened at the thought.

“I borrowed some Xadian texts through a new lending service,” Viren told her as he unlocked his office. The windows overlooked a green courtyard, where the sunsets in the evening would cast a warm orange glow over his desk. “How Harrow managed to set it up, I’ll never know. They’ve been notoriously strict with lending, but of course Harrow would be able to – ”

He caught the look on her face and broke off the sentiment.

“What?”

“Dad,” she said, in a drawn-out tone that nearly made him wince. “Soren is right. You need to move on.”

Viren gave an impertinent snort. “I thought we had this conversation already.”

“Yes, but the way you talk about him…”

Viren stared at her. Had he been obvious just now?

“I…I was simply expressing my admiration for a professional accomplishment,” Viren said stiffly.

Claudia nodded too slowly, expression fully skeptical. “What about a dating site?”

Viren jerked out of his thoughts. “No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to subject myself to that level of humiliation.”

_Just the usual humiliation, then?_

Frustration crept into his blood like an illness.

“I need you to review the inventory sheets. I’m going to the library to fetch the books,” he said shortly. “If you would like to take a look with me, meet me back here in half an hour.”

“Okay, Dad,” she said, offering him a pat on the arm, like he was a wounded animal.

His children had grown up to be entirely too observant.

He shook the sentimentality from his mind, instead focusing on the idea of having coveted Xadian texts in his own office to study at his leisure.

They were remarkably _heavy_ texts. Viren grunted under the weight of them when he returned, struggling to open his office door again, the books striking the desk more harshly than he intended. He fretted over that for a moment, checking the aged spines of them, lifting the covers and checking the scrawling text.

“If they’ve survived all these years,” a deep voice said behind him, “I think they’ll survive being dropped.”

Viren whirled, supporting himself with both palms against the desktop.

Harrow offered him a crooked smile.

Viren thought wildly, briefly, of slamming the door in his face and locking it.

_What do I even say to him?_

“I did not _drop_ them,” Viren said heatedly, for a lack of anything else to offer.

Harrow laughed, quiet and genuine.

Viren felt his heart skip at the sound, immediately feeling guilty for it. “Harrow, the funeral – why are you even in today?”

Harrow closed the door behind him and Viren felt himself tense, eyes darting to the desk and irrationally wondering how quickly he could put it between them.

“I want to apologize,” Harrow said, taking a seat.

Viren remained frozen, muscles ready to flee, not processing the words.

“I – what?”

“For last night.” Harrow sighed, leaning back. “I…wasn’t thinking.”

_And I was thinking too much._

Viren slowly forced himself to let go of the desk, letting out a long breath.

“Harrow, I have to ask…”

His friend looked at him, eyes expectant.

“What did it mean? You always say that it means nothing, so I have to know – ”

_If it’s true? If anyone else could have provided that manner of comfort?_

_If I’m merely…convenient?_

A pointless question – one not worth the breath it took to ask it. Viren saw that much in the way Harrow’s eyes darkened, the way his lips pressed together, hard and flat.

“It meant that I was lonely, and I needed you.”

An _awful_ answer, all things considered, one that made Viren’s anxiety boil over into something harsher.

Harrow was not _this_ naïve.

“Harrow, I need to know what this _is,”_ Viren said, his voice strained with the effort of keeping cutting words cutting him alone.

Harrow cocked his head. “This?” he repeated.

Viren’s lips parted in surprise.

_It’s really this simple,_ he realized. _And yet it’s taken me so long –_

_Not a lover, not even a friend._

_A convenience._

“I see.” Viren flattened the emotion from his voice, leaving the words cold. “Never mind, I understand.”

Being in the office, door closed, with Harrow – the air felt thinner, Viren’s stomach twisting with something like nausea.

He brushed past Harrow, but Harrow stood, catching his arm to object to the dismissal.

“I told you what this was years ago.”

Viren blinked at him, recognizing the low tone and the furrowed brows.

_He’s angry._

_Good._

“I’m not your servant, Harrow,” Viren snapped. “I’m not on-call for you whenever you decide I fit into your life.”

“I never said you were. I was clear last night – ”

“No, this was _different,”_ Viren snapped. “I never consented to be Sarai’s replacement.”

Harrow stepped back, stunned. “That’s cruel.”

“Then we’re even,” Viren said, opening the door and motioning to it. “If that’s all, Harrow – ”

Harrow’s temper was visible on his face, but Viren refused to allow it to force his hand this time. 

“No, we’re going to talk about this,” Harrow said, soft and dangerous.

“There’s no need. I know where we stand now.”

“Clearly _not._ I thought we were friends, just as we always have been.”

_Just as we always have been._

Viren let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the sudden headache he felt forming. “That’s a lie. You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“It never was for me, but it’s clear you weren’t being truthful.”

_“I_ wasn’t?” Viren said, incredulous. “Oh, well, that _must_ be true, because you’re always right about everything.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“You think you can put a label on people and that they’ll just blindly adhere to it – ”

“I was making myself _clear.”_

“Like last night?”

“I needed you, Viren.”

Viren’s resolve weakened under the tremor in Harrow’s voice, in those words.

_Don’t cave, Dad,_ Claudia’s voice echoed in his head.

“With respect, old friend,” Viren said softly, “you’ve never once asked what _I_ needed.”

Harrow regarded him, the flush of anger gone from his cheeks. 

“Because I knew,” he said gently. “I knew, and I can’t give it to you.”

Viren stared.

_Oh._

His stomach churned.

_He knew, and he used that._

Viren felt sick.

“Harrow – ”

“Dad, did you pick up the books yet?”

Both men turned to the doorway, where Claudia’s eager grin faded into something hesitant.

“Oh,” she said, eyes flickering awkwardly between them. “Hi, Uncle Harrow.”

“Claudia,” he said, forcing a note of courtesy in his voice. “I – I’ll be going, if you’re busy, Viren. But…perhaps we can continue this later.”

Viren nodded without meaning, wanting more than anything for Harrow to just be _gone,_ gone long enough so he could remember himself.

“Dad, you’re so pale,” Claudia said, closing the door. “Is everything okay? Oh, you’re shaking.”

“I have a favor to ask,” Viren said, accepting the hand she placed on his arm, guiding him to the chair Harrow had vacated, closing his eyes briefly against the turns of his stomach.

“Anything.”

“Stay with me.”

Claudia blinked at him, not understanding.

“Here, in my office. In the laboratories. Anywhere Harrow might – ” Viren took a breath to fortify the voice that threatened to break. “I need a barrier. I need…someone to keep me strong.”

Claudia’s eyes glistened, her hand squeezing his. “Sure, Dad. I can do that.”

Viren closed his eyes when her long hair brushed his face, her arms tight around him. He placed a hand on her back and held her, wondering how long it had been since the last time he had.

“You…really love him,” she murmured. “Don’t you?”

“…I do,” Viren muttered, his voice trembling and hating himself for it. “And he’s made it clear he doesn’t want that from me.”

Claudia squeezed him so tightly he could scarcely breathe.

“You’ll get through this, Dad,” she whispered.

As lies go, Viren thought, it was a very pleasant one.


	3. In Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Our room is dark, the blinds are shut tight  
> And everything is still too much outside  
> It may be over but not tonight  
> I may be older but I still cry
> 
> I can't stop sleeping in your clothes  
> You can't stop calling on the phone
> 
> Can't you see I'm in recovery?  
> Just let it be, I'm in recovery
> 
> I'm still trying to let you go  
> Oh baby, please, leave me alone
> 
> Can't you see I'm in recovery?  
> Just let it be, I'm in recovery
> 
> I know you wanna say you're sorry  
> But I don't wanna hear that story  
> I don't wanna be your fool anymore  
> Can't you see I'm in recovery?”
> 
> “In Recovery,” LP

Viren woke gently, with the absolute certainty that Harrow would never love him.

Harrow had told him – every time, in concise words. 

And yet everyone had known it before Viren.

He had convinced himself over the years – every time Harrow wanted physicality, looked at Viren like he was the only man in the world – that somehow, some time, Harrow would accept Viren in a role beyond _friends with benefits._ Someday, Viren would stand next to Harrow as an equal. 

He stared at the ceiling for a long while, counting the times he was Harrow’s fool, blind and lovesick. He counted until he lost count, until the sadness grew into frustration and the frustration into anger. He put a pillow over his face and yelled, the sound hot and damp on his lips.

Irrational, perhaps, but Viren had to admit he felt a bit better afterward. 

This became his ritual, a primal sort of coping mechanism he had never needed before – abusing his pillow when his mind worked to abuse him, refusing to let himself spiral into the guilt and self-loathing he knew lurked in the cracks of the ceiling. At first, he found himself screaming into his pillow every morning, releasing the ache of waking alone, the pain and temptation of leaving Harrow’s texts unanswered beyond the strictest professional courtesy. 

Claudia, bless her, had become Viren’s shadow. She made him coffee in the morning, placed vitamins on the table for him to swallow absently, kept by his side at the office, even following him to the threshold of the men’s room to ensure that he was never alone when Harrow stopped by.

And Harrow stopped by frequently.

The first time, he expressed his apologies in interrupting Viren and Claudia’s work; the second and third, he lingered, hinting that he wished to speak to Viren alone. Claudia simply offered him wide smiles, and talked about the weather.

She monitored his texts to Harrow as well. The phone would ping (Viren began to flinch at the personalized text tone for Harrow), and Viren would silently hand it over to Claudia, a physical removal of the enticement to say something he would regret. As a result, Harrow’s texts became impatient, vaguely demanding, while Claudia replied with oblivious cheerfulness.

Viren read her tone-deaf responses for him with a gradual sense of amusement.

He spent more time at home, reading Xandian texts, doing jigsaw puzzles with Claudia, letting Soren teach him about baseball (which was interesting from a statistics point of view, Viren grudgingly admitted to himself).

After a month, Viren needed his pillow considerably less often.

It took a month for Harrow to corner him alone again.

Claudia had gone to fetch them coffee, an act of service neither had questioned. After four weeks without success, Harrow’s visits to Viren’s office were sparse, brief.

Calculated.

Viren was sure of that much, finding Harrow in the doorway, a soft smile on his lips.

“Viren,” he said softly.

“Harrow,” Viren said, trying desperately to recall exactly how long ago Claudia had left, and how long the lines at the coffee shop might be. “Can I help you with something?”

Harrow stepped into the office, glancing at the corners. “Your shadow isn’t here?”

“Ah, no. She…went for coffee.”

“Hmm,” Harrow said. “She’s been very…present.”

“The struggle of having teaching assistants,” Viren said lamely. “And children.”

Harrow chuckled, keeping his distance from the desk. “I only stopped by to ask if you’re available after your lecture tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, I – ”

“I’ve hired a new faculty member for your department,” Harrow said, cutting into Viren’s clumsy protests.

Viren paused, interested despite himself. “Oh?”

“He’s not from around here, so I thought I might impose on you to give him a bit of a tour of the campus. The city too, if you have time.”

“Oh. Well – ”

“Hey, Dad, sorry it took so long.” Claudia slipped past Harrow, shooting him a concerned look. She placed a cup in front of Viren, nervously pushing her hair behind one ear. “Really sorry.”

“Just give it some thought,” Harrow said, beginning to turn. “I think you’ll have a lot to discuss with another mage.”

Viren watched him leave, suspicion refusing to die down even when only he and Claudia remained.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“Yes,” Viren said, almost surprised by the answer. “Just business. He’s hired a new professor and I may need to show him the ropes.”

“Another mage?” Claudia asked, eyes sparkling. “Sounds like a good distraction.”

“Magical research is much more than a _distraction,”_ Viren lectured, and didn’t understand why Claudia giggled at him.

*

When they arrived home, Viren’s mood had only gotten lighter. After all, he had finally faced Harrow alone without falling apart or fighting, he and Claudia had stopped for takeout, and he was particularly eager to begin a new jigsaw puzzle (borderless to make it extra challenging, featuring a number of very pleased kittens and a ball of yarn).

Soren joined them, snatching a carton and pair of chopsticks before unceremoniously flinging himself on the sofa.

“Another puzzle?” he asked, noticing the box on the coffee table. “Oo, kittens!”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Claudia said, opening the rest of the cartons. “Did you take all the kung pao? _Dad!”_

“Share with your sister,” Viren said automatically, opening the pantry.

“Did you buy wine?” Soren asked, craning his neck. “Planning on getting smashed?”

“No, Soren, I am not going to _get smashed.”_

“Got a fancy date?”

“No,” Viren said shortly. “I just thought it might be nice to…relax.”

Soren regarded him with all the skepticism of Viren’s voice, as though he knew Viren didn’t understand the word.

“Can I have some?”

“When you’re twent – oh. Right. I suppose. Do you like wine?”

“The spritzers they make at the girls’ sororities are pretty good,” Soren said, making Viren wonder exactly what his son was doing in his free time.

“Can I have some?” Claudia asked, eyes widening until they seemed to take up half her face.

Viren hesitated. “Don’t tell your mother,” he said, wincing at the shrill shriek of excitement that followed this statement.

He opened a bottle and poured a small glass, offering it to Claudia, who took it with eager hands.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said.

“Me?” Viren asked, glancing up from the sweet and sour pork in time to catch her grimace and slowly push the wine back toward him.

“Tonight?” Soren asked. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“The best!” Claudia said, grinning. “Uncle Harrow came by today and they had a normal talk, and Dad didn’t cry or anything.”

“I never _cried_ before – “

“Yeah?” Soren interrupted, oblivious to Viren’s indignation. “Then I guess it’s okay.”

“Will you two tell me what’s going on?” Viren asked, snapping his chopsticks apart with too much force. 

_I’m going to need this wine, aren’t I?_

Claudia scampered off, returning with her laptop, which she placed in front of Viren.

He stared at the website onscreen for a moment, no less confused than before.

“What is ‘Beat?’” he asked at last, finally reaching for the wine Claudia discarded.

Soren poured his own glass of wine. “It’s a gay hookup site.”

“A _what!”_ The wine burned when he coughed, his throat closing.

“It’s a _dating_ site!” Claudia objected.

“Pretty sure it’s for hookups. You know, _beat_ as in beating your – ”

“As in _heart_ beat!” Claudia huffed, while Viren remained silent, his face too warm.

“And gay,” Soren said, adding another unnecessarily embarrassing comment, punctuated as he stabbed a piece of pork from the carton in front of Viren, “’cuz you’re gay.”

“I’m not.”

“Dad.”

“I married a _woman.”_

“Everyone makes mistakes, Dad.”

“Your mother was _not_ – hmm, well – ”

“You got a lot of matches though!” Claudia interrupted, too cheerful. She clicked on the site and maneuvered the screen toward Viren.

Viren eyed the computer suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

“Guys interested in you. Look!”

Claudia scrolled over profile photos of several men – some his age, some obviously younger – too fast, Viren unable to read the names or ages or anything in their bios. 

“All these men...are interested in me?” Viren said, as one particularly well-chiseled face flashed onscreen.

“Yeah!” Claudia nudged him in the ribs, giving him a sly look. “Any of them catch your eye?”

A soft _ping_ saved Viren the agony of answering that question. “What is that noise?”

“You got a message!” Claudia clapped her hands eagerly. “Let’s see what it says!”

_What circle of hell is this?_

“I...don’t think – ”

But her hand was already on the touchpad and Viren sighed, lifting the wine to his lips in preparation for this to go very, very badly.

“‘Good evening, Professor,’” Claudia read, all smiles. “‘Has anyone ever called you that in’ – oh.” She made a face, unwilling to continue.

“‘In bed,’” Soren announced loudly, Viren flinching.

Claudia cleared her throat, still only half as embarrassed as her father, who was certain he had turned as red as the wine. He rubbed his eyes too hard, seeing spots appear.

Soren nodded sagely, pointing at the screen with his glass. “That’s a lot of heart emojis.”

“You told people I’m a professor?” Viren asked, his face still too hot.

“It’s an ice breaker!” Claudia said, wringing her hands in distress. “And guys seem really into it...”

“Academia is not a _fetish.”_

“Dunno, Dad,” Soren said. “Maybe it’s like the gay version of the hot librarian.”

Viren spluttered for words, eventually giving up and draining his wine, the alcohol burning the back of his throat. “How on earth am I supposed to reply to this?”

“Just say hi!” Claudia said.

“After _that_ remark?”

“It’s probably just a joke – to break the ice!” Claudia said, even as Viren caught Soren shaking his head. “At least check his profile!”

Viren sighed, Soren taking the cue to refill his glass. The profile was sparse, with a few lines under each category. Under the name “Starglow” was a small photograph of –

A Startouch elf.

His skin was the color of the galaxy on a warm night, freckled with spots like glittered like the stars themselves, eyes dark and inviting beneath waves of silken white hair.

For a long time, no one spoke.

When Viren found his voice again, it was a single syllable.

“…oh.”

“...he’s gorgeous,” Claudia murmured.

“This...clearly is a mistake.” Viren shook the awe from his mind, taking the wine that Soren offered.

Claudia hit him lightly on the arm. “Dad! A gorgeous elf messages you and you call it a mistake?”

Soren shrugged. “Even I’d consider it, Dad.”

“You’re not helping,” Viren muttered, eyes darting back to the profile picture, to the elf’s shimmering hair, to the purple-lavender horns that gracefully rose from it.

_Horns._

Viren wondered what they felt like.

“Dad, I know you doubt yourself a lot, but at least say hi. It’d be rude not to!”

Viren reluctantly pulled the computer toward him – and away from the eager, prying eyes of his children. 

_But what_ does _one in response to that manner of message?_

“Hello. And to answer your question, no.”

Short and to the point.

And a bit cold.

Viren already wanted to close the laptop and never think of this again.

The _ping_ that followed his message surprised him.

“Pity,” it said. “It would suit you.”

Viren rolled his eyes, petulance overcoming the embarrassment of that implication. “I’m certain you say that to every man you message.”

“As of now, yes, I do.”

Viren snorted.

“You’re the only man I’ve messaged, Professor.”

Viren paused, skimming this text again. “I’m flattered to be the first,” he wrote, sarcasm bleeding through. “Perhaps another man might appreciate it more.”

“Why would I want to message anyone else now that I’ve found you?”

Warmth crept into Viren’s face.

This elf was certainly brazen and confident – but perhaps with a face like that, he had the right to be.

“Do you always speak so forwardly?” he asked.

“You’re the type of man who appreciates forwardness,” came the quick response.

Viren hesitated over the keyboard, torn between protesting that overt statement and fighting against the truth of it.

“You don’t know me that well yet.”

“Yet?”

Viren hardly noticed the word, and yet the elf latched onto it immediately.

“…it’s just an expression.”

“I know what you’ve written about yourself here.”

“My daughter set this up for me. I have no idea what she’s written about me.”

“Then tell me yourself.”

A selfless command, one that Viren – despite his reservations about, well, most things – wanted to obey. He gazed at the golden eyes in the profile picture; even still and frozen, they compelled him to answer.

And so he did. His fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard, offering the elf information about his life, his children, his divorce; the conversation like that of someone he had known for ages, an old friend, someone genuinely interested in who he was. The responses came quickly, offering only engaged questions, encouraging Viren to speak, and speak more.

A diary, of sorts – one that responded kindly, with interest, like a therapist – or the friend Viren had wanted in Harrow.

“You’re still talking?” 

Viren looked up; Soren was in the kitchen doorway, wearing pajamas and a surprised expression.

“Yes, why? How late is – oh.” Viren rubbed his eyes, disbelieving the hour displayed in neon on the oven. “I…lost track of time.”

“Obviously.” Soren crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “This guy really that interesting?”

“Yes, I – he’s an _elf,_ Soren. His culture – Xadian culture – ”

Never mind that Viren had completely neglected to ask about his culture, or even magic, too caught up in the questions about himself, and the need to let everything out.

A late realization that perhaps Viren should not have been so forthcoming – after all, he didn’t know a thing about this elf beyond his species – and his sexually forward introduction.

“All right, all right, I believe you. Just don’t start lecturing me,” Soren said, holding up his hands. “You gonna meet him?”

“Oh.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“This is a _dating_ site, Dad,” Soren said, exasperated. “You didn’t treat him like some kind of specimen, did you?”

“No,” Viren protested, despite having done exactly that.

Soren left out an affectionate sigh. “Okay, Dad. As long as you’re happy.”

“I think that line belongs to parents.”

“Where d’you think I got it? Anyway…I’m glad you’re moving on, Dad. Even if it’s for some gay elf guy. Just hope he’s real.”

Viren frowned despite Soren’s careless laughter. “Real?” he repeated.

“You know, not a catfish.” 

Viren sighed, wishing for once that Soren wouldn’t speak entirely in sports or slang.

“Someone who lies about who they are,” Soren said. “There’s an easy way to check – here, let me.”

Viren stepped back to allow Soren access to the laptop, watching as he saved the elf’s profile picture, dropping it into a search engine.

Within seconds, the elf’s face appeared over the screen.

“Bingo,” Soren said. “That’s your guy.”

_Aaravos._

_Impossible._

“...oh.”

“You know him?”

“Of course,” Viren said, skimming through the search, gold eyes following as he scrolled past them. “Aaravos is...well. Any mage would know him. He’s – well. Legendary. I didn’t even know photos of him existed.”

Soren raised an eyebrow.

Viren leaned back, disappointment seeping into his veins. “It’s impossible. Someone like this would never…”

Soren gave him a sympathetic look that only made Viren feel more foolish.

“He can’t be Aaravos,” Viren muttered.

“Sorry, Dad.” Soren offered a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

_Once a fool, always a fool._

“I’m going to bed,” Viren said abruptly, suddenly unable to stomach the eyes staring back at him. He turned and left, trying to ignore the concerned face of his son illuminated by the face of someone too good to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks a turning point, so thank you for sticking with this story thus far! Very excited to finally introduce Aaravos next week ~


	4. Don't Swallow the Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have only two emotions  
> Careful fear and dead devotion  
> I can't get the balance right  
> Throw my marbles in the fight  
> I see all the ones I wept for  
> All the things I had it in for  
> I won't cry until I hear  
> 'Cause I was not supposed to be here
> 
> Everything I love is on the table  
> Everything I love is out to sea"
> 
> \- "Don't Swallow the Cap," The National

_Thank the gods for distractions,_ Viren thought, rubbing sleeplessness from his eyes and wincing when the too-hot coffee scalded his mouth, leaving a numb layer over his tongue. His disastrous introduction to online dating aside, he found himself finally looking forward to a visit from Harrow, knowing that it would result in no renewed broken hearts, no messy untied strings. 

Today, Harrow visited with a _professional_ reason.

That distance alone was enough to make Viren forget about making a fool of himself to a false online god, the consequential insomnia, the over-hot coffee. He tried to whistle as he straightened the books and notes on his desk, but his tongue complained, and so he simply hummed, an old Katolis lullaby he used to sing to Soren and Claudia so many years ago.

“Wow,” Claudia said, placing a stack of requested library books on his desk. “You’re in a good mood.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” Viren said, glancing at the titles and the list she handed back to him. “It’s lovely today, and I have a new colleague to introduce to the university.”

“I thought you’d be annoyed by that,” Claudia said, pulling the lid from her coffee and blowing over the foam, a wisdom she clearly had learned from her mother. “Some new guy getting in the way of your work.”

“Perhaps he is,” Viren reasoned, “but he could be a wealth of new information. He could have some rare texts. We could even collaborate – ”

“Easy, Dad, he hasn’t even gotten here yet,” Claudia laughed. “But it’s nice to see you optimistic, even if – ”

She cut herself off and sipped her coffee, but not before Viren shot her a suspicious glance, catching the wince on her face.

 _She’s mine after all,_ he thought dryly.

“Something you’d like to share, Claudia?”

She put her coffee down, clicking her burned tongue and making a face. “Soren said you had a rough night with the dating thing. I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“You didn’t,” Viren said automatically. She gave him the same look Lissa used to when he gave an obvious lie.

 _Bullshit,_ her raised eyebrows said.

“Well,” he said, sighing. “It’s a process. Healing. Moving on. Perhaps I was…overeager in my desire to rush recovery.”

“That’s what Soren said,” Claudia said, and Viren stared.

“He…did?”

“You know he’s been taking psych classes? I think it’s starting to stick. Better than his poetry classes, anyway.” She made another face unrelated to her burned mouth. “But he might not be wrong. Just…make sure this new professor isn’t another overeager thing.”

Viren regarded his coffee with another sigh, this one longer.

_Things are getting obvious enough for Soren to notice._

Desperate times, indeed.

“You’re getting better,” Claudia added, with a note of cheer. “Since you’ve been hanging out with us, you haven’t had as many depressive episodes at all!”

“Er – thank you, Claudia,” Viren said, always impressed with how well his children could turn a compliment into an insult. “At least baseball is beginning to make sense, if one focuses on the statistical aspects of it.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure it’s my thing. Oh, we should have a sleepover night!” Claudia said, her face lighting up. “We can build a pillow fort in the living room like when we were kids, and watch bad movies, and talk about cute boys – ”

“Let’s…just see how well I improve before we resort to that,” Viren said, vaguely horrified with telling his daughter any details of his love life, past or present.

If it had been up to him, she wouldn’t have ever figured out the basic biology that required her or Soren to be born.

“I wonder if Soren would join us,” Claudia said, undeterred by his dismissal.

“Does he have cute boys to talk about?” Viren asked sarcastically, filing a stack of notes in the tall cabinet.

“I dunno,” Claudia said, taking the question literally. “He doesn’t really seem interested in dating.”

“Well,” Viren said, relieved for this small mercy, “he’s welcome to take his time. I was a late bloomer myself.”

“I think he’s just gonna end up marrying a protein bar,” Claudia said, in the tone of voice that always made Viren wonder if she was perfectly serious.

A knock interrupted his lack of reply, Harrow appearing in the open doorway, all smiles.

Viren’s stomach fluttered for a moment and he crushed it down with another gulp of hot coffee, eyes prickling at the pain.

 _Absolutely in control,_ he chided himself darkly.

“Easy on the caffeine, old man,” Harrow said, his deep laughter filling the office. “Think of your heart!”

“My heart is fine,” Viren said through the thickness of his burnt tongue.

A flicker of doubt passed over Harrow’s face. 

“Do you have some free time today for our new recruit, Viren?”

“Of course. I’ve cleared my entire schedule. I’ll leave Claudia here for my office hours.”

“Good, good. Let me get out of the way…” Harrow stepped back, withdrawing from the office threshold, motioning forward to an unseen figure. “Viren, our new Magical Studies professor – ”

Viren stared at the dark figure that walked into his office, gracefully long limbs, impeccable silver suit, tall frame topped with white hair and gently curved horns.

Someone he had seen before, a beauty tempered and diluted through the pixels of his computer monitor.

The real thing was…something else entirely.

 _“Aaravos,”_ Viren whispered.

He was startlingly inhuman, his violet skin sparkling as he stepped into the light that spilled in from the lopsided blinds. Despite the human-designed suit, the elf called attention to every part of him that the humans in the room did not share, black and gold eyes roving over each of them in turn, landing on Viren at last.

Here they remained, indigo lips turning upward into a smile, reserved for Viren alone.

Or so it felt, as Claudia and even Harrow melted into the background of what was not Aaravos.

The elf offered a hand, delicate despite its size, strong around Viren’s despite the lack of a fifth finger. His skin was cool, like a clear summer night, and he seemed perfectly content to hold Viren’s hand without the customary shake, fingers inching up as though he meant to feel the acceleration of Viren’s pulse.

He was, in a word, otherworldly.

_And utterly stunning._

Viren coughed and used that as an excuse to break the connection, heat rising under his collar.

“Professor Thorne already knows me?” Aaravos spoke in a voice that could only be described as _unfair,_ deep and dark like the cosmos themselves, or cool honey dripped over Viren’s skin.

Viren’s blush vanished, his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

“How flattering,” Aaravos said, with another full-lipped smile that made Viren feel too many things at once.

“Call me Viren,” he said faintly, “if you please.”

Aaravos’ smile deepened. 

_“Viren,”_ he said, the syllables like a purr.

Viren sat down – heavily, the chair objecting to the abuse with a quiet squeak.

“W-welcome to Katolis University,” he murmured, busying himself with organizing the already organized notes on his desk. “I – I’m sure you’ll be quite happy here.”

“As am I,” Aaravos purred, _“now.”_

Viren’s eyes shot up at that, doubting that the elf could possibly mean what he seemed to mean, Aaravos’ smile steady as the heat crept back up Viren’s face. 

_Is he trying to unnerve me after last night?_

But of course that couldn’t be true. The Aaravos online had been a fake. The real thing had no idea of what a fool Viren was.

Not yet.

“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” Harrow said, his voice startling. “So I’ll leave you to it, Viren. Aaravos, a pleasure.”

_Is Harrow still here?_

Viren gave a weak wave as the dean disappeared.

“I…suppose a tour of the university would be a good start,” Viren managed, forcing his brain to recall the itinerary he had plotted the day before. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Aaravos said airily. He waited silently, watching Viren too closely as he rose and reached for his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders and trying not to meet the elf’s penetrating gaze. 

“Claudia,” Viren said, remembering her presence just as suddenly as he had Harrow. “I, ah, will see you later tonight. I would like to finish grading the, ah…”

Aaravos’ presence was too distracting, Viren’s words slipping away.

“The essays on Primal Sources?” Claudia offered helpfully.

“Yes,” Viren said, feeling Aaravos’ eyes boring into his back. “Those.” He turned to Aaravos, startled yet again, this time by the sheer height of the elf. As a tall man himself, Viren was unaccustomed to looking up into someone else’s eyes, especially ones that held inhuman color, inhuman intensity. “Shall we?”

Aaravos obliged the motion toward the door and swept out as though he simply floated over the floor.

Viren steeled himself with a long breath, giving Claudia one last (vaguely desperate) glance, hoping for something – a cheerful thumbs up, a reassuring vote of confidence on her face. Instead – 

“He’s _gor-ge-ous,”_ she mouthed at him silently, and Viren walked into the wall.

Despite his role as tour guide, Viren followed Aaravos down the stairs and out the door of the Magical Studies department building, sucking in a quietly desperate breath of fresh air, squinting in the sunlight. 

_I can do this. He’s just another professor._

A professor who was born with more magic than Viren could ever hope to learn.

But this train of thinking helped steel him, Viren realizing that his predictions to Claudia had been perfectly correct, exceeding his wildest daydreams.

Aaravos was a perfect embodiment of magic from Xadia, from texts he could never obtain, times turned to dust.

_The fact that he’s beautiful is just a bonus._

Or a distraction even from magical progress, he thought, half-miserable as he regarded the way Aaravos _sparkled_ in the daylight, stars glinting on his hands and face, ombre horns glittering, white hair light and ethereal.

_I’m going to make a perfect fool of myself._

Viren sighed.

“You seem reluctant,” Aaravos commented, in a tone that could have been called offhanded, if not for the honey-dark timbre of his voice.

“Not at all,” Viren said, forcing a smile. “I apologize if I gave that impression.”

“Ah,” Aaravos said, and Viren shivered at the breathy syllable. “You’re overwhelmed.”

The blush returned, the infernal burn on his face, his neck.

“You’re never met a Startouch elf.”

“I’ve never met any elves,” Viren said, “and everything I know of Startouch elves – well. There simply _isn’t_ much known.”

“I see.”

“I want to apologize if I…stare,” Viren said. A confession that make the burn on his face grow, but an openness he needed to say, if to avoid offending a powerful, legendary mage. “Harrow neglected to mention who you were.”

“I gathered that,” Aaravos said, amused, “by how pleased he seemed when your knees gave way.”

Viren coughed, his hand rising to pull at his collar and tie. “Yes, well…seeing you in person is a very different thing from photographs.”

“Oh?” Aaravos said, one white eyebrow lifting. “You’ve seen photographs of me?”

_Oh. Right. Best not to mention last night’s mistaken identity, or the emotional complications of that._

“Of course – you’re quite famous in magic circles.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not at all,” Viren said, relieved the conversation now moved to professionalism, a safe space to keep him from admitting that he had only seen Aaravos’ photo on a website best left forgotten. “Shall we?”

Aaravos offered another smile, following as Viren began forward.

“I don’t mind,” he said, as Viren debated whether to begin at the popular coffee shop in the middle of campus, hesitant to subject Aaravos to the attention he would no doubt gather from students and teachers alike.

“Mind?”

“The stares,” Aaravos said. “I’m in a human country. It’s expected. Please do not worry about offending me in that manner.”

“Oh, I – I see.” Viren chuckled. “That answers my debate. Would you like to start with coffee? Or tea?”

“Tea,” Aaravos said, “please.”

Viren led the way, pointing out buildings and other departments, giving as much history as he could recall (lamenting the fact that he had spent last night wasting time rather than researching his own university), Aaravos nodding politely, silently, but with rapt attention as they approached the busiest part of the school. Viren internally flinched at the glances of students, elbows to draw the attention of friends, open-mouths and shameless stares, but Aaravos glided beside him as though he noticed nothing that was not Viren’s voice.

“Perhaps we should go to another coffee shop,” Viren said, when the eyes became almost too much to bear.

“Does it bother you?” Aaravos asked. “The attention I receive?”

“No, I – I understand it,” Viren said. “But I…prefer not to draw it myself.”

“Really?” Aaravos asked, looking at him in surprise. “Why not?”

“Oh. Well, I’m just a teacher. You’re – well.”

“An elf.”

“Beautiful.”

The word slipped without thinking, Viren’s flush boiling up, breath catching at his own indiscretion.

Aaravos didn’t look offended, the faint confusion remained on his lovely features.

“But so are you,” he said.

Viren stared. The compliment was given as though it was an obvious statement of fact. His blush faded as Viren considered that Aaravos might be blind, or otherwise not wholly sane.

“Why should you not receive the same adoration as me?” Aaravos continued, picking up their pace toward the shop again. “I do not understand why only I should draw stares.”

Viren forced his feet forward, hurrying to catch up. “I – thank you. But I think you may be in the minority opinion of my appearance.”

Aaravos stopped abruptly, seizing Viren’s arm to turn the mage toward him. Gold eyes roved over him once, twice, with an agonizing slowness that made Viren feel it through his clothes, his skin.

His heart pounded, louder than all the noise in the courtyard.

“I don’t understand,” Aaravos said, releasing Viren with a careless shrug. “Human aesthetics confuse me. Come, let us have tea and you can explain it to me.”

Viren laughed, the discomfort dispelling with this order. Aaravos was new to human culture, it seemed, and that would likely provide a series of miscommunications. But the elf was frank, as eager to learn as Viren –

_And he thinks I’m beautiful._

That sort of thing shouldn’t matter, physicality that one could hardly dictate upon being born; and yet Viren’s mood lifted, soared, replaying Aaravos’ voice in his head until he could hear none of the crowds around them, soothed by a stranger’s mellifluous compliments, so easily given.

He bought Aaravos a cup of tea (white, no sweetener, Viren noted for future outings) and himself a cup of coffee. The stares came more frequently than ever with the throngs of students, but now Viren could ignore them, or feel a certain amount of pride in them.

After all, Aaravos thought he deserved them just as much.

He wondered if anyone was jealous of him, walking and speaking with Aaravos like an equal when the elf offered no one else any such attention.

The thought was powerful, intoxicating.

They continued the tour, Viren’s lecture energized now, teaching to a captivated audience better than the coffee he no longer required, Aaravos remaining silent, attentive, content to let Viren drag him all over campus. At length, all the buildings had been identified and given historical accounts, Viren pausing before the main library. Of course a library tour was a high priority, but Viren hesitated. He had spoken for hours about the school, the curriculum, the research. Would it be better to keep some for another day?

A motive for another day spent with Aaravos outside of the office, in the spring daylight where he glowed like a star in competition with the sun itself.

“Let’s see the botanical gardens,” he said instead. “I think that’s enough talk about work for today.”

Aaravos made a sweeping motion with his hands, giving Viren a slight bow.

“May I ask something?” he said, as the two followed a paved path that gave way to earth, trees on either side beginning to sandwich them together.

“Of course,” Viren said, hoping that his knowledge of the university was complete enough to answer.

“Why do you drink that?”

Viren blinked, eyes moving from Aaravos to the cup in his hand. “Coffee?”

“Coffee,” Aaravos repeated, as though the name was unfamiliar. “It smells bitter.”

“Oh. It is,” Viren said. “People tend to add sugar or milk to make it less so.”

“But you did not. Do you enjoy bitter things?”

“I never really thought about it,” Viren said. “I started drinking it black in college. The shops were always too crowded, so I went without. It’s an old habit.”

“Humans are always in such a hurry,” Aaravos said, head turning to regard the shade of the trees overhead, the quiet of the arboretum compared to the bustle of the main campus. Even in the shade he sparkled, the filtered sunlight shimmering on his skin. “A consequence of short lifespans.”

“I…suppose so.”

“I like it here,” Aaravos said, motioning toward the plants around them. “I can feel the earth again.”

“The campus does get overwhelming,” Viren admitted. “I tend to hide in my office and my laboratory.”

“You work too much.”

Viren laughed. “You sound like my ex-wife.”

Aaravos looked down. “Ex-wife?”

“I’m divorced.”

Aaravos nodded, understanding this part of human culture. “She did not like your work?”

“She did when it paid the bills,” Viren muttered. “It…was more complicated than that. Are you married?”

Aaravos breathed a soft laugh. “I do not have a mate, no.”

_Single._

Viren shook the immediate thought from his head, cursing himself for an idiot. Aaravos’ personal life was none of his business.

“May I ask why you left Xadia?” Viren said. “A land with magic in every breath – I can only imagine what it offers. Human countries must feel so…empty.”

“Xadia offers magic,” Aaravos said, with a graceful nod, “and moral judgments of how that magic may be used.”

Viren fell silent, their steps cushioned by the soil, slowed by the stillness of the gardens.

“For a place of such possibility, there are restrictions still. Preconceived rules, laws that should not be obeyed.”

There was something there, a bitterness that crept into Aaravos’ honeyed voice, a hardness in those gold eyes. 

_Did he leave willingly, or was he forced to?_

The question was too heavy to be spoken aloud, and so Viren let the curiosity stew. Best not to let things get too personal too quickly, given how Aaravos’ very appearance was already so distracting.

“Did your wife leave because of your feelings for the dean?”

Viren tripped over his feet, stumbling until he caught the trunk of a tree.

“What?” he asked gracelessly.

Aaravos regarded him with unjudging eyes, head cocked slightly. “Your feelings for Harrow,” he repeated.

This blush was hotter for all the shame it carried.

“This is an uncomfortable subject for you,” Aaravos said. “I apologize.”

“No,” Viren said quickly, unwilling to let someone else apologize for his mistakes. “It’s…you caught me off-guard.” He straightened, brushing his palms on his thighs. “You’re very perceptive,” he muttered.

“Humans are very expressive creatures,” Aaravos said.

Viren looked away, eyes following a pair of ducks in the creek, green-brown water rippling behind them.

“Harrow and I…” Another pause, the frustrating lack of definitions of what he and Harrow were glaringly obvious when spoken aloud. “It’s in the past.”

Aaravos nodded, but he looked unconvinced, his intense stare making Viren fidget.

“He is a wound,” he said, his voice soft.

“That is a word for him,” Viren murmured.

“New?”

“Old and new,” Viren said, their steps resuming. “And I don’t even know which of us is holding the knife.”

“I see,” Aaravos said. “But you do not wish to be lovers.”

“I – not anymore. Not the way we were.”

“You wish to move on.”

“My children want me to,” Viren said, managing a brief laugh. “Tired of dear old dad moping about.” He thought about Claudia and Soren’s awful attempts to find him someone else, the embarrassment that could only come from immediate family. “My happiness lies in another direction.”

He carefully looked away from Aaravos, afraid of the insinuation. 

Aaravos nodded again, likely understanding more than Viren said aloud, the elf reading him like an open textbook.

“Thank you for the tour,” he said, after several minutes of silent walking amongst the spring blooms. “You’re busy and still gave all this time to me.”

“I volunteered,” Viren said. “I have so few colleagues with whom I can discuss magic.”

“I am glad you volunteered,” Aaravos said. “But I am sure you wish to return to work.”

“If I am honest, no,” Viren said, watching a butterfly land on one of the elf’s horns, wings gently flexing. “I have…greatly enjoyed talking with you.”

Aaravos hummed, eyes cast upwards to the tops of trees, to the pale blue that peeked through. “It does not have to end.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dinner?” Aaravos asked, the word almost a purr in the back of his throat. “You can teach me about human cuisine, and we can…talk.”

The word seemed to imply something else – or perhaps that was wishful thinking.

“Oh,” Viren said, nodding before he could adequately respond, a pleased flutter in his gut. “Of course – I’m very interested in your work.”

“Ah,” the elf said. “You misunderstand. I am very interested in _you.”_

His dark fingers curled around Viren’s wrist and the mage shivered, the touch hot and cold simultaneously, the elf’s nails running along the veins. He froze in place, staring at the hand on his, believing that he had, at last, completely cracked. 

The words Aaravos spoke could never actually be – 

“And you’re interested in me.” Aaravos spoke with casual confidence, making Viren’s blush hotter.

“ I – I don’t – that – that’s quite the assumption – ”

“Did that change from last night?”

Viren blinked. 

_What is he talking about?_

“Last night? Last night I – oh.”

 _Oh no._

The memories came late, distinct and separate from the genuine Aaravos before him. 

“You – that was _you – ”_

The realization brought horror, Viren seeing, with perfect clarity, how much of a fool he had made of himself in less than twenty-four hours of knowing Aaravos.

“That was really you,” Viren murmured, stomach sinking.

Aaravos cocked his head as though confused by another human subtlety. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“It’s the internet – my son told me people lie – ”

“Humans may lie. I do not.”

Viren rubbed his eyes, exasperated. “As if I could simply take your word – ” He gave a long sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“You logged out so quickly last night. Perhaps you changed your mind...?”

“No, I – no.” Viren hazarded a glance upward, noting the small, pleased smile on Aaravos’ face, the heat on his own face relentless. “Not exactly.”

“Dinner, then,” the elf said, an order rather than a question, pulling on Viren’s hand. “Don’t you think you _owe_ me, after leaving me alone so suddenly last night?”

Viren swallowed, unaware of anything that was not Aaravos’ skin against his, and the soft, deep demand that compelled Viren to obey - and happily so.

“And,” he added thoughtfully, “I want to know about humans.”

“What about them?” Viren said, struggling to match Aaravos’ suddenly long strides.

The elf smiled, an expression of secrets, of meanings beyond what Viren could read.

“Everything,” he purred.


	5. Exorcism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'll reclaim my body and my soul  
> Banish the broken from my bones  
> You're no longer my religion  
> So I take on a whole new energy  
> Manifest a better part of me  
> Gotta rid you from my system  
> It's time for an exorcism
> 
> “Exorcism,” Clairity

Viren stood before his full-length mirror, wondering if tonight would be every bit the disaster he foresaw, holding shirts and ties up to his throat, miserably tumbling down familiar roads of self-loathing, of cursing himself to have even held onto hope for a moment.

_I barely know Aaravos and I’m too attached._

The flutter of his gut when Aaravos spoke to him was wholly reminiscent of how he had felt in college, when Harrow pulled him under the bleachers after games, the noise of the crowds melting into nothing with each kiss, the promise of youth, of young love.

Viren was too old for that now, and too old to hold onto what could have been.

He tossed a dress shirt on the bed and sighed, sitting on it with all his weight.

“Dad?”

Viren glanced up at the gentle knock, Claudia’ head popping in hesitantly.

“Yes?”

She leaned with her back against the doorframe, giving him a rueful, sideways smile. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I – ” The rehearsed _I’m fine_ didn’t feel right on his tongue, Aaravos’ deep objections echoing.

_“Why should you not receive the same adoration as me?”_

“I don’t think I am,” Viren said.

Claudia’s smile deepened, less from his words and more, he supposed, from his honesty.

“Can I help?” she asked, motioning at the pile of disregarded clothes. “Looks like you could use it.”

“Thank you.” Viren glanced at the shirts, the mismatched ties, a creeping sort of overwhelming anxiety threatening to make him text Aaravos and cancel the entire evening.

“So,” Claudia said slowly, collecting shirts and fluffing the wrinkles from them. “You’re going out?”

“Dinner,” Viren said. “I promised Harrow I would see Aaravos acclimated to human culture.”

Claudia paused, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said, with an enormous amount of forced control.

Viren rolled his eyes, rising so she could fetch the now impossibly wrinkled gray shirt from under him.

“Don’t _oh_ me, young lady,” he muttered. “This is strictly professional.”

_Except for the part where Aaravos asked it to be a date, called it a date, and expressed unprofessional personal interest._

Easier to push that aside, to avoid drowning in the idea.

Claudia hummed in a way to indicate she didn’t believe his protests. “Things with Aaravos went well, then?”

“Yes.” Viren remained still as she held up a shirt, and then another, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. “He…is a fascinating person.”

Claudia pressed her lips together and Viren frowned at the hidden smile.

“Why don’t you just say it?” Viren said dryly. “Let it out, Claudia.”

“Was it him?” Claudia gushed immediately, pressing the shirts against her chest excitedly. “Soren said it wasn’t Aaravos online, but it’s too much of a coincidence that he’s suddenly here – ”

Viren sighed. He preferred when his children had pretended not to know anything at all about his personal life, and yet Claudia’s excitement was difficult to ignore, his lips twitching. He let her dance about, speaking too fast about the potential of the Aaravos here to be the same who had so forwardly contacted Viren online.

Only after a breathless sixty seconds of chattering did Claudia pause, and Viren took advantage of her drawing another breath to place a hand over her mouth, another long, tired sigh escaping him.

“Yes, Claudia,” he said, his voice weary. “It’s the same Aaravos.”

Her shriek of excitement permeated his palm and Viren winced. Claudia dropped his shirts, seizing his hand. “Oh, I’m so happy! So this dinner…” Her words failed and she simply smiled at him, as if she was proud of him.

Viren felt a bit of his self-loathing melt, just a little, under the scrutiny of her hopeful expression.

“It’s…” He swallowed too many emotions that threatened to well up. “It’s a date.”

He flinched at the second screech that followed this confession, Claudia bouncing, still clutching his hand.

“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you, Dad!”

“Your optimism is commendable,” Viren muttered, “but perhaps we can save it for afterward.”

Claudia’s expression faded, eyes studying him. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to go out with him?”

“Oh, I do,” Viren said, too tired to manage embarrassment at this admission. “I’m simply…waiting for the punchline.”

“Oh, Dad.” Claudia’s shoulders fell. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that about yourself. You’ve made so much progress. It’s not fair that you talk yourself out of something that could be…really good for you.”

Her hurt expression was too much, and so Viren stooped to pick up the shirts she had dropped on the floor.

“You wouldn’t let me or Soren talk about ourselves like that, would you?”

The thought stung, Viren regarding her face guiltily. “No,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t. Thank you, Claudia. Your help through…everything has been invaluable.”

Her smile returned now, sparkling in the intensity of her happiness. “And I’m not done yet,” she declared. “Let’s find you something to wear that will make Aaravos fall in love with you at first sight.” Her brows knit pensively. “Well. _Second_ sight.”

“Really now,” Viren muttered.

“Aha, you’re blushing, Dad!”

Viren seized the shirts from her hands and she laughed, and the revolving wardrobe game began anew, Claudia taking her time in digging through his closet, shirts and ties held up until Viren was sure she had made every conceivable possibility. At last a decision was made: a pale silver shirt, black suit, deep violet tie.

“You look very handsome,” Claudia said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. 

“…thank you, Claudia.” It wasn’t bad, was it? The shirt brought out the color of his eyes (and the silver beginning to creep into his hair and beard, which he was inclined to ignore), and the tie – almost too playful for him – reminded him that tonight was supposed to be fun.

_Fun._

As if he remembered how that worked.

“Worst case scenario,” he murmured, “I can talk to him about magic.”

Claudia’s mouth bent disapprovingly. “Dad.”

“I’m joking,” he said, in a tone that suggested otherwise. “I had better go or I’ll be late.”

“Where are you going?” Claudia asked eagerly, trailing as he left the bedroom, adjusting his cufflinks. 

“I’m not sure,” Viren said, pausing at the hall mirror to fluff his hair (ignoring the knowing glance Claudia shot at him). “He wants to learn about human cuisine, so I’ve made a list of cultural options.”

“Daaad,” she said, with an exasperated smile. “Take him somewhere _nice.”_

“There goes my plan to take him to McDonald’s,” Viren said dryly, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He checked his pockets – wallet, cell phone, keys – and straightened his tie for the umpteenth time.

“Who’s going to McDonald’s?” Soren’s voice called from the kitchen. “I could go for like three Quarter Pounders.”

“It was a joke, Soren.”

He emerged into the foyer, a pout on his face. “Wow, rude. Got my hopes up for nothing.” He eyed Viren critically. “You got a date or something?”

“Or something,” Viren said, cutting Claudia’s overeager explanation off.

“Purple tie, huh? Bold statement.”

“That’s it!” Viren said, throwing his hands up, unable to take the attention, the potential of a real date in too long, the possible implications of whatever a purple tie could mean. “I’m cancelling the entire thing.”

“Dad, you can’t! Soren, he looks good in the purple tie. _Doesn’t he,_ Soren?”

“Oh. Yeah, Dad, I didn’t mean it like that,” Soren said, shrugging. “You wear a lot of gray. It’s nice to see you in some color.”

Viren could feel a pout on his lips and he bit it back. A nervous wreck in front of his children – how much worse would he be in front of Aaravos?

He sighed, resigned to his fate. “I don’t know how late I’ll be,” he said, fingers already readjusting his cufflinks again. “I trust you can fend for yourselves tonight.”

“Yeah, no offense, Dad, but I’m pretty sure we’re less likely to burn down the house cooking than you doing magic experiments.”

That made Viren chuckle softly. “Fair enough.”

“And don’t worry about being late,” Soren said, shrugging. “We won’t judge if you…you know.”

Viren leveled a raised eyebrow at his son. “I’m sure I _don’t_ know.”

“If you stay the night with the guy.”

Heat flooded Viren’s face, his mouth dropping open. “It’s not – I’m not – it’s a _first date,_ Soren!”

“So it _is_ a date,” Soren said solemnly.

“I’m going,” Viren said, too loudly. 

“Good luck, Dad!” Claudia exclaimed, waving as he opened the front door.

“Yeah, and practice safe s - ”

Viren shut the door behind him with too much force, ears burning. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he climbed into the car, skimming for the address Aaravos had sent him earlier. 

“On my way,” he texted, waiting for the car’s GPS to verify the address.

The response came quickly.

“I am all anticipation.” Complete with a blue heart emoji.

Viren stared for a moment, until the GPS beeped its readiness.

_What am I doing?_

And yet he put the car in reverse and ignored every impulse to go back inside and pretend none of this had happened.

After all, home was his children, with their sympathetic faces and useless platitudes, unanswered emails from Harrow, unanswered texts from Harrow, too many memories of Harrow. Loneliness, the judgment from the cracks in the ceiling, a circular life that had not done his personal happiness any real favors.

This was him breaking out of that, cutting through whatever hedge maze he had trapped himself into. He couldn’t possibly know what awaited him on the other side of it – nothing except a very forward elf and the probable odds that Viren would end up looking like a perfect fool.

But at least it would be in a new way.

And of course, Aaravos himself – too beautiful to exist, with the intense stares and dark honey timbre, with the genuine surprise when Viren spoke badly of himself, who was – for reasons Viren couldn’t possibly imagine – interested in Viren. Not merely professionally.

Mentally. Emotionally. 

Physically.

Viren let out a long breath at that, shaking off the doubts and hopes and too many other things that would only cause him to drift into a lamppost. The navigation system told him he was on the right street and so he squinted at buildings, recognizing the name of the hotel. He pulled into the valet driveway and shot off another text, waving off the boy who approached.

Aaravos appeared, the sliding glass doors opening for him as if he were a deity rather than being motion-activated, the valet stopping and staring. The elf wore blue tonight, a navy suit so dark it looked black in the shadows, crisp lavender shirt and slate gray tie, long hair still loose down shoulders and back, sparkling in the hotel lights.

Viren let out another long breath, simply to remind himself how.

He stumbled from the car, circling around to open the door for Aaravos (wondering, too late, if his horns would be too high for the sloped top of Viren’s Mercedes-Benz). 

“Viren,” he said, lips turning upward, the name in that voice enough to make Viren’s fingers slip from the door handle. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Viren echoed, clearing his throat. He waited for Aaravos to slip into the seat before returning to the driver’s side, steeling himself for whatever tonight had to offer.

“I had a few restaurant options,” Viren said, chancing a glance at Aaravos before deciding it was easier to speak when not looking at him. “I wasn’t sure which you would prefer.”

“Whatever suits you,” Aaravos purred.

Viren swallowed, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “Well, I – I know that some species of elves are vegetarian.”

“I am a pescatarian.”

“Perhaps a plant-based restaurant, then – ”

“I am not averse to a restaurant serving meat,” Aaravos broke in gently. “I know humans are omnivores.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“And I am familiar with the costs of dark magic.”

“Right.” 

_Of course, of course. His diet is biological, not ethical._

“You seem nervous again,” Aaravos said.

Viren sucked in a lung of air, feeling the frustration of his thoughts boiling under his skin. 

“I am,” he announced. 

“May I ask why?”

And something in Viren broke. The words poured out, released by the question that Viren was convinced Aaravos actually wanted to know the answer to.

“To be perfectly frank, I am barely over my last disaster of a romance,” he said. “I see Harrow every day, I am reminded of him every day and it tortures me. So it’s likely a terrible idea for me to throw myself into the possibility of something new when I’m probably going to project those feelings of rejection and incomplete personal inadequacy onto you instead. I work too much, obsess too much. I’m particular and more than a little repressed. I have absolutely no idea what you see in me, and I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest for getting back out of the car so the both of us could pretend you never asked me to dinner at all.”

Viren paused, remembering once more to breathe, while Aaravos regarded him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted.

And then he laughed, a deep, rumbling thunder of a sound, one that vibrated through Viren’s skin, his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

“Finally!” Aaravos said, his expression pure joy. “Real honesty!”

Viren gaped at him, mouth opening to say something, anything, but falling silent at this unexpected reaction.

“That is the Viren I spoke to online,” Aaravos said, lips curling into a sideways smile. “I wondered where he had gone when we met in person. I saw him a little, when you spoke about magic – that passion you hide so well.”

Viren shook his head, mouth still grasping for words. 

“That manner of primal honesty is what drew me to you,” Aaravos continued, not put off by Viren’s shocked silence. “Such raw scrupulousness. It is rare – in all species.”

“Yes, well.” Viren shifted in his seat. “I’m not a romantic. I’m a pragmatist.”

“Good,” Aaravos hummed. “I do not think I will be disappointed, no matter how you attempt to dissuade me. Now, dinner – tell me, where did you and Harrow go together?”

“Together?” Viren knit his eyebrows. “We didn’t – Harrow didn’t regard us as…a couple. And so he never…”

“Never showed you off?” Aaravos said, cocking his head, one perfect eyebrow arching. “A shame. A crime, but one I shall rectify.”

Viren’s stomach twisted pleasantly at the compliment, squirming in his seat again. “I – I – ”

“Where would you have liked to go with him?”

Viren closed his mouth, considering this.

“There’s a place downtown,” he said slowly.

Aaravos motioned forward with palms up, and Viren buckled his seatbelt, putting the idle car into drive.

“Tell me about it,” he said, as Viren pulled onto the dark streets of the city. “Why did you think about this place?”

Viren chewed on his lip for a moment. “If I’m honest…”

“Please.”

“Harrow took me there once.” The memories rushed back, Viren’s hand clenching the wheel to remind himself to breathe, to stay above water. “I thought it was – well. Harrow and I – I was divorced by then. My wife didn’t appreciate the ‘competition.’ That’s how she phrased it.”

“Was she right?”

“Yes,” Viren said, the confession leaving him a little lighter. “I – I tried. I tried so much, but Harrow – ” He shook his head, taking advantage of a red light to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I could never tell him no. I never – we weren’t – I never _cheated_ on my wife.”

“In any manner?” Aaravos asked softly.

Viren sighed. He knew what Aaravos meant – and it was impossible to deny. Not now, after all these years.

“I never should have married Lissa,” he said. “I loved her. Sometimes more than Harrow. But not – not always. So perhaps I never deserved her. She certainly never deserved me.”

Aaravos regarded him with eyes that seemed to glow in the dark cityscape.

“Anyway, I…didn’t take it well. She left anyway. And I was left with…”

“Harrow,” Aaravos murmured.

“It was a joke how quickly we…” Viren cleared his throat. “A mockery of my marriage. He wanted to comfort me. That’s what he said. I let him. And for years…” A wistful sigh escaped his lips and he turned his eyes away, watching the traffic lights change color ahead. “For years, we were together. All but dating.”

“All but?”

Viren swallowed, hard enough to hurt, his throat dry. “All but,” he echoed. “Never public. No one else knew. I always thought – ” His hands squeaked against the leather. 

“That was the problem,” he said quietly. “I always thought too much. He was honest, and I didn’t listen.”

Cool fingers grasped carefully at his, easing the tight grip from the steering wheel. Viren glanced up, at the calm expression on Aaravos’ face, and felt the tension slowly leave his hands.

“Four years together,” Viren said, his voice soft. “To the day. We went to this restaurant for dinner, and after I ordered champagne for us, Harrow told me he was engaged.”

He could see Aaravos’ horned head turn toward him from the corner of his eye, but he steeled his gaze on the road, counting the streets until they arrived.

“Four years of him telling me we weren’t…what I wanted. Four years of me pretending one day he would wake up and change his mind. That night was ugly. Accusations, misunderstandings, my inability not to hope for things I couldn’t have, his inability to free me of him. We made a scene. In the morning we apologized, but that was it. He was engaged, so I couldn’t have him anymore. I never did, really. And he insisted we were still friends. Always…friends.”

The restaurant was ahead and Viren pulled into the parking lot, finding a space near the back, parking and shutting the car off, leaving them in dark silence.

“I was his best man,” Viren said, unsticking his hands from the wheel, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “I gave a speech and pretended I was fine.”

“Oh, Viren.” The sigh wasn’t pitying, not like the tones of his children. Understanding.

“I couldn’t say no to him. I never could.”

“Until now.”

Viren finally looked at him; Aaravos _glowed_ in the residual light of the restaurant, golden eyes and shining white hair, the glitter of stars on his cheeks.

“Even now it’s a struggle,” he said. His shoulders and spine slumped against the back of the seat, all nervousness gone, crushed under the weight of lost years and the evaporation of dreams that only existed in his head. “So you see, there is no reason for you to go through with this. I’m a mess. I’ve wasted my youth on a man who will never love me. I’ve ruined my marriage, complicated my work life, and I’m drowning in memories of someone else while I’m with you.”

Aaravos titled his head (his horns glinted at the shift of light, like a god descending from the dark clouds). And then he smiled, a fluid act, lips coiling upward. 

“Why do you speak as though your age precludes the rest of your life?” he asked.

“I’m too old – ”

“Before you reject me for my own sake,” he purred, “may I ask one question?”

“Of course. I owe you that much.”

“Do you _want_ to have dinner with me?”

Viren stared. Of all the questions, how could Aaravos ask that?

“Well – yes,” he said. “Of course.”

“Then if I am attracted to you, and you are attracted to me,” Aaravos said, voice like warm honey dripping into Viren’s blood, “the rest is simply detail.”

_Attracted to you._

Gods, he was blunt, Viren staring as though this was some grand trick, a bad prank set up by Soren and Claudia. But Aaravos leaned forward (just enough to make Viren immediately think of kissing him) and took one of Viren’s hands in his, sandwiching it between two cool palms.

Viren swallowed, thick against a dry throat.

“You are, aren’t you?” Aaravos murmured, that baritone vibrating up Viren’s arm.

“But I – what if that’s all this is?” Viren stammered. “Physical attraction.”

“Hmm, it isn’t for me,” Aaravos said, his smile trailing to one side of his face, eyes focused on the cool fingertips that ran featherlike along Viren’s palm. Viren shuddered and Aaravos laughed quietly, pleased by the reaction. “But I do not mind… _persuading_ you.”

The flush bloomed instantly, up Viren’s neck and into his cheeks. 

“If that’s the case,” Viren said, annoyed at his own breathlessness, “you shouldn’t have asked to come to a place where I have such strong memories of Harrow.”

“You misunderstand,” Aaravos said, releasing Viren’s hand with one last trailing fingertip along Viren’s heartline, the mage shivering anew. “That was intentional. I look forward to flooding you with new memories, until Harrow has overflowed from your mind, and you can think of no one but me.”

Viren stared, lips open with disbelief, but Aaravos opened the door and slipped sinuously from his seat, leaving Viren in the car for a long moment to consider what manner of Pandora’s box he had opened now.


	6. Roulette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a problem that I can not explain  
> I have no reason - why, it should have been so plain  
> Have no questions but I sure have excuse  
> I lack the reason why I should be so confused
> 
> I know how I feel when I'm around you  
> I don't know  
> How I feel when I'm around you, around you
> 
> "Roulette," System of a Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a little early due to family obligations. Thank you all so much for your kind words, and please enjoy! 💚

“Do you like wine?” Aaravos purred over the menus, as Viren struggled to find an entrée that wouldn’t offend a species he scarcely knew anything about.

“What? Oh.” Viren lowered his menu. “A bit, although it’s a new hobby, and not one I’ve been able to properly research.”

He flinched inwardly at the honesty; he could hear Soren’s voice in the back of his head, calling him a nerd.

But Aaravos chuckled, a low vibration that made Viren’s arm hair stand. “Research,” he repeated. “I like that. But perhaps some experiments are best done without a hypothesis.” He motioned to the waiter, who appeared in an instant, as though he had been waiting and watching.

But everyone was watching, Viren knew, even without looking up. Their arrival had hushed the entire restaurant, heads turning as one, shocked and curious eyes on them as Aaravos effortlessly asked the host for a table for two. Viren took the moment to square his shoulders and calm the twinge of discomfort in his stomach, knowing that his entire dinner experience – and every other outing with Aaravos – would result in stares and blank judgments.

Aaravos had placed a hand heavily on Viren’s shoulder and the table nearest followed the action. Another twinge, but this one pleasant, with the realization those faces wore something like envy.

That was a new feeling.

The waiter left with the wine orders and Viren reached for his water, able now to ignore the constant turn of faces toward them. “I didn’t think you would like wine,” Viren said. “Human wine. I understand that elven wine is very different.”

“So it is,” Aaravos said. “Very sweet, made for celebrations. But I prefer human wine. You can taste the very earth on your tongue. For a species that is not inherently magical, humans have created a drink that celebrates nature itself.”

“That’s…very poetic,” Viren said, eyes returning to squint at the menu.

“You don’t sound impressed.”

Viren managed a short laugh. “I’m not a poet, Aaravos. I’m afraid I don’t have the inclination for it.”

“I can convince you of its merits,” Aaravos said. “In time.”

Viren swallowed, eyes dropping from the violet-lipped smirk to the safety of the menu.

“Are you ready to order?” Aaravos asked, flagging the waiter down again with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. “I’ll have the scallops,” he told the ever-ready waiter. “And my date will have the filet mignon.”

_Date._

Another flick of his wrist and the waiter was gone, Viren frozen in place. Absently, he reached for his water again, wishing the wine had already arrived. With an effort he shook off the shock of it, lifting his eyes back to the expectant smile across from him.

“Forgive me,” Aaravos said. “I could see from how much you debated over the menu that you preferred red meat. Was my guess accurate?”

“Very,” Viren managed. “I’m sorry, I – I wasn’t – ”

“I already told you I am not offended by human diet,” Aaravos said. “But it does you credit to concern yourself for me.”

Viren was spared a reply when the waiter arrived with the wine.

“May I ask something…personal?” Viren said, watching how the lighting caught on the gold irises of his date.

“Of course.” Aaravos lifted his wine to his lips, pausing to inhale, eyes closing with though in a particular kind of bliss.

Viren’s mouth went dry.

The eyes opened again, the corners crinkling with amusement. “Your question?”

“Oh. Yes.” Viren cleared his throat. “May I ask why you left Xadia? You said earlier that Xadia had differing opinions about dark magic than human countries. But…you contain magic of your own right. You wouldn’t have use of dark magic.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Aaravos countered, eyebrows rising. “Dark magic is not merely the act of _taking_ magic. It does things that are otherwise impossible, even by other magical means. The potential for dark magic, Viren, is limitless. But Xadians are so hesitant to even _try – ”_ His voice grew harder, heavier, and he paused, his composure returning.

“You and I are made of something better,” Aaravos said. “Open minds and a willingness to do what frightens others.”

Viren scoffed, nerves easing at a more professional subject. “I agree,” he said, “on all points. It’s not been easy establishing a foothold for dark magic, even in academic circles. Harrow has been my greatest ally in the regard. Without him, I don’t know that I would have any of the research I do. Even now, my students are only allowed to study dark magic in theory. All the practical applications I’ve published were performed entirely by myself and my daughter, Claudia.” He picked up his wine, pausing. “Of course…there is a great deal we have _not_ published, for fear of weaker public opinion.”

“Oh?” Aaravos hummed. “I would be delighted to review your work.”

“I would be honored. There is still so much we don’t know.”

“I can teach you.”

Viren felt a flush of pleasure at that statement. How much could Aaravos teach him? How much would an elf mage of such renown know?

The possibilities made him breathless.

The waiter returned, slipping bone white plates before them before giving a brief bow and vanishing again.

Viren’s nervousness had vanished with him, and he took knife and fork in hand, cutting into the steak before him. He was starving, he realized, trying to recall when he had last eaten – let alone something as divine as the filet that melted in his mouth now.

From across the table, Aaravos laughed quietly.

“A man in ecstasy,” he remarked. “I envy the steak for taking you there first.”

Viren choked, face flushing hot an instant. A sip of wine to wash it down, and a sharp breath as he struggled to process the forwardness of the beautiful creature across from him.

“You certainly speak openly,” he managed.

Aaravos hummed, reaching for his fork. “I am old enough to know that if I want something, the shortest path is being open about my desire.”

“Oh,” Viren said uselessly.

“But I will refrain, if it causes you discomfort,” Aaravos said, cutting into a scallop. “I would prefer to show you a thousand ways of celebrating being alive rather than killing you with the mere promise.”

Viren shifted in his seat, blood pooling where it had absolutely no right to, almost violent in how well Aaravos could seduce him. 

But dinner went well – better than Viren had expected, Aaravos seemingly delighted by everything he said. The bill paid, they walked slowly back to the car, a comfortable silence falling.

“How do I measure up?” Aaravos said, as Viren unlocked the car. “To your Harrow?”

“Ah,” Viren said, with half a shrug. “I was able to taste the food this time, so I have to say this was the better date.”

Aaravos laughed (Viren found himself wanting to make him laugh constantly, to feel the way it seeped under his skin and made his blood race). “Then I have done well.”

“Very well,” Viren said. He fumbled with his seatbelt, as if to make the evening last just those few seconds longer. “I can’t remember eating so well.”

“You do not cook?”

“Not anymore,” Viren said. “Not since Soren found out I was using dark magic in my dinners. He refused to touch anything after that.”

Aaravos chuckled. “Dark magic cooking? How _clever._ You will have to cook for me.”

“Oh. If you wish. Back to your hotel then?”

“Thank you.”

“How long will you be at the hotel?” Viren asked, flicking on the headlights. “I assume you have a permanent address you’ll be moving to.”

“Not yet. I thought I would get to know the city before making a decision.”

“A wise decision,” Viren mused, “although not very comfortable in the meantime.”

“The bed is a bit short,” Aaravos said airily. “But I have enjoyed _room service.”_

Viren chuckled, imagining the tips of Aaravos’ feet peeking out from the sheets. “And meanwhile, my house is too big,” he said, and then paused, the full gravity of the statement hitting him. He stammered scattered words to take back the implication, but they died on his lips when he caught the growing smile of his companion.

“Have you so warmed to me that you would offer me housing?” Aaravos said, his voice a low, pleased vibration. “Why, Viren, I am flattered.”

“Well, I – I – ”

“What better way to learn about human life than to throw oneself into it?” Aaravos continued.

Viren took a long breath as they paused at a light. “I…suppose that’s one point,” he said slowly.

“What better way to make you forget about other men,” Aaravos purred.

Viren shivered, swallowing as the light turned green, focusing on that instead of the concentrated stare from beside him.

“Of course, I will have to ask my children,” Viren said. “It’s their home too.”

“From what you have told me of them, I do not think they will mind.”

Viren swallowed a groan. 

_He’s right._

Claudia and Soren would be too eager to play matchmaker with Viren and Aaravos.

The thought was horrifying.

But with Aaravos’ happy expression beside him, Viren felt that embarrassment fade – just enough to consider it seriously.

“If – if that’s what you want,” Viren said, forcing a casual tone.

“It is,” came the satisfied hum.

They arrived at the hotel without another word, Aaravos’ good mood permeating the air in the car, Viren’s clothes, until it seeped into him like a drug. The very fact that Aaravos wanted him so openly, so honestly, made him dizzy. One day with him, and he had given Viren everything Harrow could not.

Viren felt nearly drunk off of it, of the lingering glances Aaravos shot his way, to the deliberately fleeting touches of Aaravos’ hand throughout the night.

“Would you like to come up?” Aaravos asked. His voice was light, but the implication was not, and Viren swallowed thickly.

“I – I shouldn’t,” Viren said. “I’m…not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”

“Yet,” Aaravos echoed, pleased. “Do not worry, I will get you there.”

Another strain of blood in inopportune places, Viren wriggling against it. “I am…certain that you will. But not tonight.”

“Not for a lack of wanting.”

Viren looked away, the blush rising up his collar.

_Get out of my head, elf._

“A kiss then,” Aaravos said, “until you are ready.”

Viren’s head whirled, his heart skipping a beat in panic. But Aaravos did not lean in, lifting two fingers to his lips and then reaching out, brushing them gently against Viren’s mouth.

Viren swallowed again, feeling too many things at once, heart pounding.

“Good night, Viren,” Aaravos said softly. “Send me your address. I will move in tomorrow.”

_Tomorrow?_

“As…as you wish,” Viren said, unable to protest, the cool ghosts of Aaravos’ fingers lingering on his lips.

Another gratified smile, and then he slipped from the car, sauntering to the front of the hotel.

Viren’s drive home was a blur, the evening replaying in his head over and over in an attempt to process everything at once, and finding, as he parked in the driveway, that he didn’t understand anything at all.

He took his time getting out, letting the evening air wash away the stifled atmosphere of the car, too long choking on his own repression. His body ached for what Aaravos offered – some manner of worship, praise that Viren had never known and now, after a taste, felt as though he could not have enough. 

Someone who said over and over again how much they enjoyed his company.

_One could get addicted to that._

It was too easy to imagine how Aaravos would make love: slowly – agonizingly so, making Viren feel it all, no piece of him left unexplored, untouched –

Viren drew a shaky breath, running his hands over his face and feeling the heat there.

_Oh, yes, Aaravos moving into my house is such a good idea._

He leaned on the car until reason returned to him. Of course he couldn’t simply jump into a physical relationship. That’s what got him in too deeply with Harrow, and Viren knew, if nothing else, he was not going to repeat those sins with Aaravos.

_Make the elf wait for me and suffer for it,_ Viren thought, even as he knew it would be entirely the opposite.

He tossed his keys into the basket beside the front door, craning his neck to see if there were lights on beyond the foyer. After all, it wasn’t late, and Viren was certain both children would wait up for him regardless.

“Dad?” Claudia appeared first, eyes wide with hope and anticipation, hands clasped as she watched him enter the kitchen. “You’re home. Early.”

“What time did you expect me?” Viren asked sharply.

“Oh. I guess it’s not that early,” she said quickly.

Viren snorted.

“So…how did it go?” she asked, her tone leading.

“Don’t you want to wait for Soren? Ah, there he is.”

“Hey, Dad,” Soren said, a Gatorade in hand. “You’re home early.”

Viren sighed. Heavily.

“We had _dinner._ It wasn’t four courses.”

“Sure,” Soren said doubtfully. “I just thought…”

Viren felt a pang of irritation at the trailing of his voice. “I had no intention of…of staying the night,” he said. “I’m not the kind of man to…sleep around. I have morals.”

“Not cool to slut-shame, Dad.”

“I’m not – ” Viren broke off, frowning when he realized yet again he had no idea what Soren was saying. “…what?”

“Never mind,” Claudia said soothingly, even as she pulled a wineglass from the cupboard and pushed it before him. “Tell us how it went.”

As if to encourage him, she uncorked the half-finished bottle of wine on the counter, offering a generous pour.

“It was fine,” Viren said shortly.

Soren and Claudia exchanged rueful glances.

“Don’t do that,” Viren said, reaching for the wine. “Don’t look like you’re…mourning my love life.”

“We aren’t,” Claudia said quickly.

“You’re just home _super_ early,” Soren added unhelpfully.

Viren sighed. “It went…well. We talked. About work, about why he left Xadia.”

“And…?” Claudia said, obviously unimpressed with conversations regarding academia.

“And it was nice,” Viren said stiffly. “He…he said he would wait until I could…move past Harrow. He said he would convince me to forget him.”

“Oh, Dad!” Claudia said, clapping her hands in delight.

“Wow,” Soren said, eyebrows rising. “Sounds like a good dude.”

“Yes, he…is a _good dude,”_ Viren repeated dryly. He sipped the wine, hesitating to tell them more.

“Did you kiss him?” Soren asked.

“I – ” Viren felt the blush violently. _“No.”_

Both Soren and Claudia looked disappointed, and Viren fidgeted.

“…not exactly.” Viren sighed again, annoyance driving off the blush. “He…” Viren mimicked the action, watching Claudia’s eyes widen to twice their size.

“Dad, that’s so romantic!”

“Is it?” Viren asked, wishing to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “He does respect boundaries, so I suppose that’s promising.”

“Of course! What’s more romantic than building anticipation to your first kiss?”

Viren sipped his wine, the blood in his cheeks boiling.

“What else?” Claudia asked, nearly bouncing on her feet.

“He…ah.” Viren steeled himself for what came next, uncertain whether he should just text Aaravos and call the entire thing off. “He’s staying in a hotel until he finds something permanent. I’m sure it’s not comfortable, given he’s a stranger in this world, so I…”

Viren chewed on his lip, avoiding the expectant eyes of his children.

“Would you two object if he moved in?”

Silence fell, Claudia’s expression going blank. Even Soren stared more blankly than usual.

“Temporarily,” Viren finished ineffectively. “Just until he finds something appropriate.”

They exchanged looks again, but Viren couldn’t read them. And then everything happened at once.

“Are you kidding? Dad, that’s amazing!”

“Way to go, Dad. Getting a guy to move in with you after one date? Respect.”

They were hugging him and he froze, shocked by the display of emotion.

He coughed, patting them briefly on their backs. “Yes, well. I…thought it would be convenient if he lived with humans while he became accustomed to living here. Not to mention the possibilities of what we could teach each other.”

“Whoa, okay, Dad, we don’t need those details,” Soren said, putting his hands up.

“About _magic,”_ Viren snapped, flushing anew. “Never mind. I’m going to bed. I’ll work out the details, but Claudia, I may need you to stay home tomorrow and get Aaravos settled in.”

“Sure, I have some grading I can work on.” She gave him one last squeeze before she pulled away, her smile soft. “I’m proud of you, Dad.”

Somehow, that praise made Viren flush even more uncomfortably than Soren’s innuendos, and he gave another very fake cough. “I – thank you, Claudia. Good night.”

He took his wine upstairs with him, not at all sleepy but unable to handle any more of his children’s attention. He wasn’t accustomed to glittering elves lavishing him with praise, or Claudia offering her pride, or Soren’s well-meaning jokes. Combined, it was overwhelming, and Viren let out a long, tired breath as he closed his bedroom door. He sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his tie while fishing his phone from his pocket.

He typed in his address, sending it before he realized that he should offer his date some manner of goodnight. But his fingers hesitated over the screen. With Harrow, once the “date” ended, so did all sentimental talk – or any sort of talk about what they had done. But Viren knew Aaravos would want something different, an acknowledgement of some kind.

_What would I have wanted Harrow to tell me?_

“You’re welcome to move in any time tomorrow. My daughter, Claudia, will be home to help you.”

Another hesitation, another steeled breath. 

“I had a good time tonight. I hope you did as well, and I…”

Viren stared at the phone. _Why is this so hard?_

Too long conditioned to keep these things to himself.

“I would be honored if we could have dinner again soon.”

_Sent._

Viren fell backward against the bed with a soft _thump._

It would have been nice to receive such a message from Harrow. He tried to recall if Lissa had been romantic, back when they were first dating, but the memories were fuzzy, blacked out by the violent censorship of too many heated arguments.

His phone pinged and he lifted it above his face.

“It would be I who is honored,” came the message, Viren hearing Aaravos’ honeyed voice too easily. “I hope next time we will have time for…dessert.”

Viren squinted. The ellipses were clearly intentional, given this was a text, but even so, the innuendo came too late, Viren almost gasping aloud at it. He threw an arm over his face, hiding his reaction even from himself, barely peeking when the phone pinged again.

“Good night, Viren. May your dreams of me be pleasant until we met tomorrow.”

_He certainly thinks highly of himself,_ Viren thought, even as he admitted Aaravos had every possible reason to do so.

He rose and took his wine into the bathroom, starting the shower as he undressed, still reliving the evening, doubting the realness of it for its perfection. But Viren was an adult, after all, and he could take things as slowly as he wished, until he truly was beyond Harrow’s influence and the memories that lived within him. He shook off the reverie, only to notice his reflection in the mirror, fingertips resting against his lips, as though tracing Aaravos’ touch from hours before.

He tore his hand away and clenched it into a fist, stalking into the shower.

“I am _not_ an overzealous schoolgirl,” he muttered, and half-drowned himself under the showerhead until he could believe it.


	7. Loose Change for the Boatman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course there is another place where my heart will learn again to beat  
> Another land another king where I will need to sing  
> But my soul can't be yours can't be bought by gold  
> All the lovers in the land know the wise man from the fool
> 
> “Loose Change for the Boatman,” King Charles

It was impossible to pay the slightest attention to work the next day.

Claudia would have been worried had she been with him, overwide eyes on him as he daydreamed out the office window, emails piling up, forgetting about a staff meeting until two minutes before it began. Nothing distracted him from work; not his children, his marriage, his divorce - even Harrow had to compete with it – but now, staring at the clock and knowing Aaravos was at his house, moving in –

Viren sighed when he returned from the meeting, wondering if he could take the rest of his work home with him, finish writing his lectures there.

As if seeing Aaravos in person would distract him _less._

But the desire to go was too strong to ignore.

“Viren?”

He looked up from his briefcase, Harrow in his doorway.

“You’re leaving before sunset?” he said teasingly. “Your house isn’t burning down, is it?”

“Ah, no,” Viren said, almost sighing at his continuous inability to react properly to Harrow’s jokes. “My house should still be standing, gods willing.”

_“Is_ something wrong?” Harrow asked, one eyebrow rising. “You seemed pretty out of it during the meeting.”

“My apologies,” Viren said, snapping his briefcase shut, letting this sigh out. “I’m…expecting a guest.”

“Oh? And I thought the elf mage would take up all your time. You two seemed thick as thieves yesterday.”

“Right.” Viren hesitated. “That’s just it. I…offered him my guest room. Until he finds a place of his own.”

Harrow’s face went blank, and he blinked a few times before choosing a diplomatic response. “That’s…very generous, Viren.”

“Yes, well.” Viren chewed on his bottom lip. “He isn’t familiar with human culture. It would be irresponsible to leave him to his own devices. And as you said,” Viren added, unable to help himself, “we’re already thick as thieves.”

The expression on Harrow’s face was a blend of too many things to read well, but the underlying message was clear: he was unhappy with this news.

_Good,_ Viren thought unkindly. He picked up the briefcase to indicate the conversation was over, and Harrow obliged by stepping aside.

“I hope this isn’t a rash decision,” Harrow said quietly, as Viren locked his office door.

Viren didn’t waste his breath asking what Harrow meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to confess the same thought. Better to lie about his feelings as he always did with Harrow.

And there was the delicious chance that this time, Harrow might hurt for it.

“When I meant Aaravos to be a distraction – ”

“You’ve made some curious assumptions, Harrow,” Viren interrupted. “You asked me to welcome him to the department. To the university. To our country and culture. He’s a colleague with a background no human mage has ever had access to. But…if this is about us…” Viren shrugged, feigned ease.

Harrow’s face hardened, not amused by Viren’s attitude. “That isn’t what I meant. I’m worried about you, Viren.”

“Ah,” Viren said lightly, pocketing his keys. “Then it’s really none of your business.” So saying, he turned on his heel.

“Viren,” Harrow called after him, that stiff tone, like a father lecturing his child. “We aren’t done with this conversation.”

“Aren’t we?” Viren retorted, pausing in the hallway. “We’ve had this conversation before, Harrow – too many times. You’re bringing it up again because you’re worried, but not out of concern for me.”

“Then _what_ exactly?” Harrow asked sharply.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” Viren said hotly, not caring now who overheard him. “And I’ve lost you more times than I can count. It’s time you learned how that felt.”

His feet carried him away without thinking, his mind telling him that _now_ was the time to go, to avoid saying anything else that would steal the power of those final words. He resisted the all-consuming urge to turn and see the displeased expression on Harrow’s face, but this was borrowed power; too many words and Harrow could twist Viren’s thirst for revenge into something else, something that could make his blood rush just as well. Instead, he breathed in the anger, the indignation of the years, and let it seep into every vein. 

By the time he reached his car, the anger morphed into something else, a lightness, adrenaline and elation.

_I stood up to him._

Without his daughter to stand between them.

An almost laughable victory for a grown man, Viren mused, pulling out of the parking lot, but one he felt in his bones. He would toss his briefcase into the corner of the entryway tonight and ignore it, open wine and order pizza, introduce Aaravos to Claudia and Soren properly.

_Can Aaravos eat pizza with the same grace as last night’s scallops?_ Viren thought, chuckling to himself. 

He whistled when he pulled the car into the driveway, beeping the alarm and glancing at the still moving van on the street. Everything was _delightful_ on the winning side of an argument with Harrow, all the nerves of Aaravos moving in vanished, evaporated in the heat of the self-righteousness Viren had unleashed. He tossed his keys in the basket in the entryway, glancing around for his kids and his guest.

Claudia and Soren were in the kitchen, Claudia with a cup of tea and Soren with a bottle of Gatorade, looking worse for the wear, his once-white tank top stained with sweat, his hair still damp.

“Dad!” Claudia exclaimed. “You’re home early. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Viren said, leaning to look into the living room for Aaravos. “Just thought I should be home to welcome our guest.”

“He’s upstairs,” Soren said. He gave Viren an expression Viren hardly understood – somehow smug and impressed at once. “He’s something, Dad. You’re a lucky guy.”

Viren rolled his eyes to push back the blush. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you two order pizza? I’ll go say hello.”

“Sweet!” Soren said, already reaching for his phone. “Between hauling all his stuff upstairs and running like six miles at practice today, I’m gonna eat a whole one myself.”

“Order whatever you want,” Viren said, already heading toward the stairs. 

“One large Meat Lover’s…”

“Aaravos is vegetarian, so be sure to get something for him,” Viren called.

“What?”

“He doesn’t eat meat, Soren.”

“Clauds, I’m _pretty_ sure he does, if you know what I mean – ”

Viren pointedly stopped listening at that, taking the last few steps two at a time to avoid it. Aaravos’ door was closed (yesterday simply just “the guest room,” now something far more profound) and so Viren gave two gentle knocks with his knuckles.

“Come in,” came the easy reply, and so Viren turned the knob.

The room had transformed.

Far from a bed with a generic gray duvet and bland framed art, the space was unrecognizable. Somehow it felt like night within, the curtains replaced with a heavier, midnight blue fabric, crushing the sunlight from entering. Instead, tiny gold lights twinkled from every corner, trailing from the peak of a sheer pyramid-shaped canopy. Beneath, a bed was fashioned out of a variety of mattresses, pillows, throw blankets of patterns and even colors Viren wasn’t certain he had seen before, like the nest of a mythological creature. And the books – books stacked and piled everywhere, almost concealing the desk opposite the nest, candles encased in glittering glass of violet and cerulean and silver to protect the books and casting fantastic hues onto the white walls. Aaravos sat, legs crossed, on a large plush rug in the center, a book in his lap, tilted head raising expectantly to his visitor.

Viren stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, frozen between two worlds.

“Do you like it?” Aaravos asked, pleased at Viren’s stunned reaction. “I feel quite at home.”

Viren’s eyes drifted back down to him, realizing at length Aaravos had freed himself from human clothing. Now he sat in some manner of gold-lined robe, blending violet and lilac and blue, utterly, unbearably open at the chest, revealing the exact gradient of how his skin faded from the steel blue of his face and hands into darkness, the stars embedded in his skin glimmering in the glow of the candles and twinkling lights. And in the center of his chest, a great black and white star, as dazzling as the others but ten times as big.

Viren’s fingers twitched automatically, impossible not to imagine what that great star might feel like under his hands.

“Beautiful,” he murmured thoughtlessly.

Aaravos smiled, the kind of smile that spoke volumes, reading Viren’s unsaid thoughts too easily. But Viren couldn’t summon embarrassment at his reaction, rapt eyes on how lithely Aaravos rose from the floor, placing his book on one of the many stacks. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he purred. “It will be my little retreat from the human world when I need it. Of course, your home is perfectly lovely.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Viren remained in the doorway, eyes following the soft flutters of Aaravos’ robe, the sheer fabric just touching his ankles. “I…haven’t really changed much of it since Lissa…”

“I see. Then perhaps that is something we can do together.” Aaravos pulled a chair out from the desk and removed a few books from the seat, motioning Viren nearer. “If I’m to live here.”

_Permanently._

He didn’t say the word but Viren felt it poignantly, a thrill of nerves and uncertainty running through him. 

“Your children seemed to think you would be home much later,” Aaravos continued, undeterred from Viren’s continued silence. He closed the door and ushered Viren in, pushing him gently into the chair and resuming his position on the floor, stretching long legs over the ink-colored rugs.

An act that pulled Viren’s eyes toward him, shaking his head quickly in an attempt to return to reason. “Ah, yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I wanted to be sure you had settled in.”

“Very comfortably,” Aaravos said.

Viren coughed, throat dry. “I’m glad.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Me? No, not at all,” Viren said, mildly alarmed at how easily the truth spilled from him. “But Harrow…”

“Ah,” Aaravos said, the syllable a contented breath. “The dean knows?”

“Yes. And I…he isn’t happy.”

“Why shouldn’t he be? You’ve done nothing more than what he’s asked.”

“Right,” Viren said, feeling the satisfaction of agreement. “Right? He has no authority over who I house. He implied…”

“That we were involved?” Aaravos finished the thought. “How prophetic.”

Viren flushed, unable to keep from rolling his eyes. “Even so, the idea that now he has any right to keep me from moving on – ”

“Are you?” Aaravos asked, his voice dropping the playfulness. “Can you move on?”

“Yes,” Viren said, more forcibly than expected. “I felt it today. I wanted to tell him – I don’t know. That we _are_ involved, or that we’re – we’re getting married – anything that would hurt him, make him _angry – ”_

Aaravos laughed, deep and rumbling. “Excellent!” he said, clapping his hands together. “That is a good sign, Viren. What _did_ you tell him?”

“Nothing. I…implied things, but told him nothing. I know him well enough to know that withholding the details would be worse than confirming anything.”

Aaravos’ lips curled. “How delightful,” he said. “A wonderful welcome gift.”

Viren’s blush threatened in his cheeks and he looked away, toward the titles of the books on the desk. “That said, Aaravos, we should discuss…things. With you in my home, it could become…complicated.”

“I don’t intend to make it so. I simply enjoy being with you.”

Now the blush did break free, Viren shifting in his chair to avoid pulling at his tie. Affection, so freely given? He hardly knew how to react, the sheer pleasure of it mortifying to acknowledge. 

“I – well.” Another shift to dispel nervous energy, looking anywhere but the pleased smile on the floor before him. “It will be a process, you know. My getting past my past. But if you want, I will try.”

“Then you have not lost interest in me?”

It was a perfectly ludicrous question, and Viren stared for a moment, shocked by it. “No,” he said. “Not at all. But I made the mistake of not setting my boundaries with Harrow, and so…”

“You must place sentries in your towers until you wish me to storm the castle,” Aaravos said. “Of course. I understand.”

The poetic metaphors made Viren uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t explain and he squirmed. 

“Thank you,” he said, still looking anywhere else in the room but at the elf in the middle of it.

“You need only make the first move, whenever you are ready.”

A generous offer, and Viren felt relief wash the tension from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said again, this time with more feeling. “But I…I’m not in the habit of making the first move…”

Aaravos’ smile deepened. “Ah, I see. Then I will. A first kiss, then, after a word from you.”

“Yes, I – ” The conversation was even parts embarrassment and rationality, a bartering of terms – like equals. It was nearly enough to keep the heat from Viren’s neck and cheeks.

Nearly.

“Wonderful,” Aaravos said. “We should celebrate.”

“I thought of that,” Viren said, grateful for the change of subject. “Soren and Claudia ordered pizza, and I think I have a bottle of something I could open.”

“Pizza!” Aaravos said, with another laugh. “How charmingly human. Yes, I will try pizza.” He rose again and moved toward the door; Viren stood more slowly, still studying the room with the otherworldly color and glitter, warm despite the darkness. Unfamiliar but not unpleasant, with the distinct impression that should he fall asleep amongst the books and twinkling stars and piles of pillows, he would have soft, inviting dreams.

His eyes wandered back to Aaravos, blue palm around the doorknob.

He almost imagined the same feeling from the elf himself, a warmth, a welcoming he didn’t know but wanted to, when he could convince himself it was right to walk into that world. He stepped carefully over the pillows and books, meeting Aaravos’ golden eyes, reflecting the colored flames of candles. There was an invitation in those eyes, in how unblinking they held Viren’s gaze, how one side of his lips twitched upward as if in anticipation of Viren asking for what they both wanted.

“Viren,” Aaravos murmured, breaking eye contact first, Viren feeling the weight of eyes on his lips instead.

“Not yet,” Viren whispered, feeling the tension tighten at the words, the pull of Aaravos like a magnet. “But know that I…that I want to.”

Aaravos’ expression lightened, his smile soft. “That is more than enough,” he said, “for me, for now.”

_Enough. I’m more than enough, as I am._

Viren blinked rapidly at the flood of emotions that statement brought forth, struggling to remember how to breathe, sinking in it. Aaravos didn’t seem to notice – or he was polite enough to pretend, opening the door and letting the rest of the world rush back in.

Viren was not one to fall in love quickly, and certainly not after knowing someone only for one day, but if Aaravos looked at him like that, looked like that, _spoke_ like that –

_Fall –_ hell. It was too easy to drown.


	8. Tip of my Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're a red string tied to my finger  
> A little love letter I carry with me  
> You're sun light, smoke rings and cigarettes  
> Old lines and kisses from silver screens  
> Oh dear, never saw you coming  
> Oh my, look what you have done  
> You're my favorite song  
> Always on the tip of my tongue
> 
> You own me with whispers like poetry  
> Your mouth is a melody that I've memorized  
> So sweet, I hear it echo  
> Everywhere I go day and night  
> Oh dear, never saw you coming  
> Oh my, look what you have done  
> You're my favorite song  
> Always on the tip of my tongue
> 
> “Tip of my Tongue,” The Civil Wars

Aaravos began to commute to work with Viren, a surreal morning ritual: Viren coming down to have a cup of coffee with Claudia and wait for Aaravos to descend the stairs like a dramatic scene in a fairy tale, slender form clad in human clothes, as if a suit and tie could conceal the wonder of his skin and horns, the innate pulse of magic within him.

“Good morning,” he said every morning, with a smile for Viren, and Viren alone.

The first day, Viren had stared over his coffee, stunned into silence that this creature, with skin that glittered in the daylight and voice that vibrated lowly throughout his flesh, had chosen to live and work with him.

Aaravos was his, in a sense – or he would be if Viren gave the word.

The reality of that was staggering in ways Viren couldn’t process, and so he hummed a noncommittal response and drank his coffee too quickly, ignoring Aaravos’ smug expression and Claudia’s beaming smile.

At work they were laboratory neighbors, and on the first day Viren unlocked the door that joined them, swinging it wide and wedging a stop beneath it.

“Hardly any sense in keeping it closed,” Viren reasoned, “at least until you settle in. I’ll show you where I keep my ingredients and reagents. You’re welcome to everything I have.”

“Everything…?”

Aaravos trailed his voice until Viren looked up, catching the meaning of the elf’s tilted head, the question within the question. Viren swallowed audibly, turning away too quickly, afraid of what it meant to be so easily tempted by what he knew could ruin him.

Their conversations went about this manner for as long Aaravos settled in to the university: easy, educated, effortless when speaking about magic, or the school, the safer topics that required personal distance. But too often, Aaravos would insert a trailing question, a soft implication, a touch of hands or prolonged eye contact; and the conversation would halt, Viren immediately pulled into those eyes. Refusing him sapped all of Viren’s strength, and he wondered how long he could go on doing so, how tired he would have to become before simply giving in.

Every morning, Viren studied the cut of Aaravos’ human suit and longed for the loose robes and exposed skin of the elf’s native fashion; every faculty meeting, Viren imagined the quiet, sparkling darkness of Aaravos’ room, where they spoke after work and traded books. Only one week, and Viren felt his resolve faltering, his will wavering, questioning the logic of putting off what felt inevitable.

The Tuesday of the second week found them in Viren’s laboratory, the mage hesitating to show Aaravos a practical demonstration of his magic. Aaravos had lit up at the offer; he had access to Viren’s work, his personal notes, but thus far Viren had excuses to avoid showing him any of his own spells, and he knew Aaravos was aware of the hesitation.

“I’ve been eager to see you at work,” Aaravos said, as Viren placed a series of plain white candles in the corners of a laboratory bench. “Although you have not been as eager to show me.”

“Ah, you noticed?” Viren said, looking up from the final candle. “You didn’t say anything.”

“It was not my place to question your readiness.”

Viren regarded the untouched candle. “There is something I haven’t mentioned about dark magic. The…personal consequences of it.”

Aaravos watched him, head tilted curiously. “You refer to the change in outward appearance.”

Viren’s eyes shot up. “You know about it?”

“You are not the first human dark mage I have known,” Aaravos said, “but perhaps the most talented.” He gave Viren a rueful smile. “Did you imagine your appearance would frighten me?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Viren muttered, crossing the distance to his reagents.

“Your wife?”

“Physically recoiled,” Viren said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I never could tell if she hated me for how I looked, or for how I felt about Harrow. Her disappointment in me was…multi-faceted.”

“Then show me,” Aaravos said.

Viren sighed, but he unscrewed the lid from the bottle of glowing butterflies, plucking one by its wings.

_So he knows. He knows what I’ll look like._

But the dead weight in Viren’s gut didn’t fade; it remained heavy, a sick feeling, leaking into his blood.

A feeling that would only change if he went through with it, for better or worse. He breathed in, determined fist crushing the insect in hand, the ripple of magic seeping into his skin.

_"Semalf gnippiks gnipael."_

The flame that appeared had an unreal glow to it, a fire born of another world, the flames licking upward, violet rather than blue, casting a gentle warmth in his palm. A flick of his wrist and the flames shifted, slinking forward to the candle nearest him, alighting with a dramatic flash of purple and gold before bounding to the next. As it moved, the spell on his skin pulsed and faded, drawn out by the flame that made one final bounce to the center of the table before disappearing with a flourish of sparks (Claudia always remarked on his spells having more flair than needed, which Viren had always denied despite the truth of it).

The laboratory fell darker, Viren sighing. He hesitated before meeting Aaravos’ eyes. He knew what the elf saw now: hair stricken with streaks of pale silver, ashen skin splotched with purple like so many violent bruises, eyes cast into darkness, irises swallowed whole.

 _“It’s awful,”_ Lissa had breathed, when she realized the extent of what dark magic had done to him.

 _“Perfection,”_ came the low whisper in the laboratory.

Viren stared, eyes widening.

Aaravos studied him, head cocking one way and then the other, like a patron at a museum of fine art. He motioned with one hand as though speechless. “Now,” he said, “I can see you without the mask.”

 _A mildly terrifying thought,_ Viren mused, heat rising as if he had in fact bared everything to Aaravos and stood awaiting careful judgment. He started out of this reverie when Aaravos approached him, a hand lifting to gently run fingers along Viren’s cheek, a thumb tracing the violet marks under his eyes. 

“Beautiful,” Aaravos murmured.

Viren felt the blush and absently wondered what color it was now, without the curtain of pretended humanity.

“Do you…mean that?” he asked, words difficult to find with Aaravos’ cool touch against flushed skin.

“I will never lie to you, Viren.”

“Lissa always said that I had lost what made me human,” Viren muttered, the words still sore, like an old scar.

“Lost it?” Aaravos said, eyes widening. “You haven’t lost your humanity, Viren. You’ve _evolved_ it.”

What a wonderful concept that was, Viren unable to reply with any sort of intelligence, simply staring at Aaravos and speculating how he had managed to finally meet someone so compatible, a honeyed voice of reason among too many small minds. 

“I’m afraid you’re in the minority of thought there,” Viren said softly, eyes threatening to close against Aaravos’ fingertips. “Claudia has seen it, but everyone else – I’m in hiding.”

“Show me.”

Viren pulled away (the effort was immense, Aaravos’ fingertips leaving cold marks on his cheek), returning to the jar of Sunray Monarchs. Another pinch of velvety wings, the abrupt crush of life from them, whispered words, and he turned back to Aaravos, a perfectly normal human face in the glass of the cupboards.

“Fascinating,” Aaravos said softly. “Truly, you are as talented as I anticipated – even more so.”

“Thank you,” Viren said, closing the cupboard doors, a thrill of pleasure running through him as it did every time Aaravos praised him. “Compared to an archmage such as yourself, I know I don’t measure up – ”

“Always at the ready with modesty,” Aaravos said, raising a delicate eyebrow. “There is no need for it. You have done what millions have been too frightened to attempt. You have melded humanity and magic and made it your own. You work is unparalleled.”

Viren scoffed lightly, but the pleased blush rose in restored, pale cheeks. “If only my colleagues thought the same. Even Harrow hesitates to allow me to teach practical magic to students. At the moment, Claudia is my only real magic student.” He leaned down to blow out the nearest candle, moving around the table to follow the flames. “Perhaps that is best – she is the only one I trust with some of my spells.”

“You can trust me.”

Viren reached the last candle, pausing beside the elf and giving him a long look. “I’ve waited so long for someone like you,” he murmured. “An equal – if a man and elf could ever be called such.”

“You have seen the limitations of man and refused them,” Aaravos said, leaning down to extinguish the last candle, the smoke trailing about his horns. “You have ascended beyond them.”

The smoke that danced about him seemed magical in its own right, like a breath too timid to touch, cast away by the gravity of the galaxy printed on Aaravos’ skin. Viren watched it, knowing that he could touch if he wished (how he wished), but –

“Still you hesitate,” Aaravos whispered, reading his thoughts aloud.

“I’m sorry,” Viren said, looking away, the safety of distance. “It’s not that I don’t – ” He took a frustrated breath. “Everything you say is everything I want to hear. But I’ve heard things before, and…”

“You’ve been hurt,” Aaravos finished patiently. “I understand. You’re wise to wait and be sure.”

“I’m _not_ wise,” Viren countered hotly, running hands down his face. “It’s _because_ I’m not wise that I don’t trust just how much I want – ” He caught the words before they escaped him, before they could be used against him. 

“Don’t rush yourself on my account,” Aaravos said, his hand reaching for Viren before pausing and dropping. Viren felt the sting of panic at that – of the idea that he could take too long and push Aaravos away for good, despite his patient words.

“Don’t give up on me,” Viren said, wincing at the desperation in his tone. “Please.”

Aaravos’ gold eyes studied him for a moment, watching as Viren lifted two fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss there. Half a moment of hesitation (Aaravos’ eyes widened in realization, anticipation), and then he reached out to touch them gently against the elf’s mouth.

A kiss – or the closest thing that Viren could offer now, to demonstrate how he began to wonder if he could live without Aaravos’ sweet words, his genuine praise, the sheer beauty he infused into Viren’s life every day by simply existing.

Aaravos smiled against Viren’s hand, the movement of his lips making Viren shiver slightly. Then Aaravos’ hands were on his, cool violet fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding it in place to press his lips against Viren’s skin with considerable enthusiasm, eyes closing as his tongue, soft and cool, wet velvet, licked briefly at Viren’s fingers.

Viren’s shocked gasp seemed too loud in the laboratory, a violent shudder running from fingertips to spine to everywhere else. Aaravos released him and Viren withdrew his hand as though wounded, face hot, breathing accelerated, while the elf smiled like a smug cat.

 _Bastard,_ Viren thought, pushing the blush down, refusing to meet his eyes. His blood raced, skin broken out in goosebumps (mercifully hidden beneath his clothes). 

“My apologies,” Aaravos said, in a tone that belied any genuine meaning. “Your reactions are…intoxicating.”

_Intoxicating? Me?_

“Such energy beneath the calm demeanor,” Aaravos hummed, stepping closer. “Such _passion.”_

Viren backed into the lab bench, heart jumping into his throat.

“Why do you hide that?” Aaravos said, his face too close now, Viren steeling every muscle so that he didn’t just lean forward and put an end to this intolerable tension.

“It – it’s just how I am,” Viren said, eyes unable to keep from glancing down at the sly smile on the elf’s lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I adore it.”

Now Viren was certain he _had_ to kiss him, the purred words like a drug, the vibration rippling through his blood like waves in an ocean. Aaravos leaned over him and he lifted his chin automatically, lips a mere breath away, electricity in the pause –

“Dad?”

Viren froze, eyes wide. He and Aaravos turned their heads together, Claudia in the doorway, hand still on the knob, staring, just as horribly frozen in place as Viren.

She recovered first, letting out a surprised noise. “Sorry! Sorry, Dad, sorry – ”

“Claudia! Claudia, wait, this isn’t what it looks like – ”

“Isn’t it?” Aaravos murmured, smile smug even as he let Viren push him aside.

“You – ” Viren shot him a glare. “Hush!”

Aaravos bowed, motioning toward the door. “You had best explain – however you can manage that.”

“I hate you,” Viren hissed, and hurried after Claudia, even as Aaravos laughed heartily behind him, both of them aware of the futility of Viren’s lies.

*

Claudia sat in the back of the car on the ride home, shooting little glances at Viren in the rearview, lips pressed tightly together to suppress the pleased smiles she threatened. Viren had explained things – badly – unable to fully concoct a lie to explain just why it looked like Aaravos was about to kiss him. Claudia nodded, slowly and deliberately, like she was soothing a child.

“Sure, Dad,” she had said, nodding too much. “Whatever you say.”

Viren sighed, grit his teeth, and let the matter drop, knowing that pushing it would only make things worse.

For a week after this incident, Viren suffered Claudia’s knowing smiles every morning, her silent pleasure radiating throughout the kitchen, and then the commute in the car, and then in his office as they prepared for the day. Aaravos either didn’t notice this change or feigned not to, granting Viren some little peace. They didn’t speak of the almost-kiss; Viren thought constantly on how to discuss it rationally, but found that even thinking on it made his heart race in a manner he wished to avoid entirely.

The almost-kiss consumed his thoughts so wholly that he forgot to feel awkward around Harrow, falling into old habits of professionalism, a professor and a dean once more. Harrow seemed to give him odd looks when he thought Viren wasn’t paying attention (and he wasn’t a good deal of the time), and Viren dismissed it, too busy convincing himself not to daydream about blue, silver-speckled lips. 

Almost two weeks after the almost-kiss, Aaravos stopped by Viren’s office after lunch with some questions regarding Viren’s research notes (Viren had, almost without any grumbling reluctance at all, given Aaravos full access to his lab and notebooks). The visit occurred during Viren’s office hours, but the wide-eyed students made way for the elf immediately, Viren rolling his eyes at their frantic whispers as he closed the door.

“They seem to think there is something between us,” Aaravos remarked, as Viren marked a few clarifications on his notes.

“Hardly any of their business,” Viren muttered.

“You mustn’t blame them for having basic observation skills,” Aaravos teased.

Viren felt the blush but kept his eyes down, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“One of them asked me directly.”

Now Viren looked up, staring over the rim of his lenses in alarm. “Asked you _what?”_

“If we were – what is the human term for being lovers? If we were ‘seeing each other.’”

The word _lovers_ made the blush worsen, Viren snorting aloud. “The audacity of student curiosity,” he said.

Aaravos’ smile remained, too pleased to be good. Viren narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the mood.

“…and what did you tell them?”

Aaravos chuckled a low laugh. “I asked her what _she_ thought of the two of us.”

“You _what?”_

“She said the students were quite abuzz,” Aaravos continued, ignoring Viren’s horrified expression. “We take _walks,_ she said. Alone in the arboretum. Together.”

“Yes, because – because you’re new – to the university, to the country, and – ”

“Aaaaand?” Aaravos prompted.

Viren closed his mouth with a click of his jaw.

“You can say it, Viren.”

“I don’t want to,” Viren grumbled petulantly.

_But maybe I owe him that much._

“She doesn’t need to know,” Viren added hotly. “None of them do.”

“Know?”

“About…things between us.”

Aaravos hummed, pleased by this admission. “They’re talking about us outside the door.”

Viren glanced toward it. “Are they?”

“Should we give them something to talk about?” Aaravos leaned over and Viren felt the stab of panic at his nearness, at the too-strong urge to give into the tension that the damned elf _insisted_ on cultivating –

He was almost relieved at the knock on the door, but Aaravos made no attempt to answer, instead reaching to gently tilt Viren’s chin upward.

_So close. Too close._

The knock repeated, nearly as loud as Viren’s heartbeat.

“…Aaravos…” he whispered.

“Come in,” Aaravos called softly.

And Claudia opened the door.

Viren pushed his chair back and the wheels squealed, the back of it colliding with his bookcase, the shock rippling down Viren’s spine.

Claudia froze in the doorway, hand still on the knob, curious faces peering around the doorway.

“Uh, Dad?”

Viren shook off the jarring of his body, straightening as if this was all perfectly normal and he didn’t want to suddenly and violently murder the elf in his office who shook with quiet, delighted laughter.

“Sorry,” Claudia said hastily. “I didn’t mean to interrupt – not that I’m interrupting anything important – I mean – well – ”

“What _is_ it, Claudia?” Viren asked loudly, to drown out the increased snickering from the hallway.

“Er – I just wanted to bring you the graded homework for your Intro to Magic course.” She placed the papers on his desk, retreating quickly. “Sorry, Dad.”

She scurried out before he could reply, or defend himself, and with a great heat on his face, he rose and marched toward the door. Immediately the chatter outside ceased, students scattering to avoid his obvious wrath.

“Office hours are over!” he announced, emphasized by the slam of the door.

Aaravos chuckled softly as Viren’s forehead followed the closed door, striking it with a dull _thump,_ eyes closing against the insufferable warmth of his skin.

“Now, now,” the elf murmured, placing calm hands on Viren’s shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh, the coolness a relief. “Forgive me for teasing you.”

Viren wanted to lecture him, rebuke him, but the touches extinguished his anger and embarrassment and he could only manage an indignant snort. “That’s not an apology,” he complained.

“I can’t help it,” Aaravos said, with a shrug to suggest this didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Since you’ve told me how you feel about me, I want to tell the world.”

Viren shot him a glare, eyes narrow. “I never said a word.”

Aaravos’ fingers were on his lips, Viren blinking in surprise. “Not words,” he said.

Viren swallowed, the fingers lingering on his lips.

After all, Viren had given Aaravos so few words – why wouldn’t he read between them? And why _shouldn’t_ he?

_Am I just leading him on?_

It was what Harrow had done to him, for too many years, and the thought turned Viren’s stomach.

A brief steeling of nerves –

Viren pressed his lips back against Aaravos’ fingertips, closing his eyes to avoid seeing the expression on the elf’s face. He couldn’t bear it – it would make things too difficult, too messy to deal with here at work. But he _had_ to reassure Aaravos that this wasn’t simply a flirtation.

There was more to it than that – so much more, but those walls were still too tall.

Aaravos pulled away slowly, reluctantly, his face soft when Viren finally hazarded a look.

“You make it difficult,” Aaravos whispered.

“What?”

“To respect your boundaries.”

_Then don’t._

The words were on the tip of Viren’s tongue but he swallowed them.

Another knock at the door made him jump, falling into Aaravos’ arms.

An almost worse-case scenario for an unsuspecting visitor.

And then Harrow opened the door.

_Absolutely worst case scenario._

Viren straightened, almost able to turn around before Harrow’s bright eyes landed on him. The realization was instant, the soft widening of eyes, the quick glances between Viren and Aaravos.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Viren said vehemently, the fever in his blood sharpening his tongue. The intrusion annoyed him, especially when it was by Harrow, who soured the entire mood of the office simply by appearing, by forcing distance between Viren and Aaravos just when they – 

“Not at all,” Aaravos said, placing hands on Viren’s shoulders and gently pushing him toward the desk. “We were going over some research notes. And I had better be off – Viren’s daughter is teaching me how to ride a _bus_ home.”

Harrow’s suspicion faltered at Aaravos’ cheery smile, and he allowed the elf to gather the notes and pass through the doorway unobstructed. 

“I’ll see you for dinner, Viren?”

“Oh.” Viren cleared his throat, pushing his temper down. “Yes – I won’t be late tonight.”

Another beaming smile and Aaravos vanished, leaving the office darker for his absence – and notably tenser.

“I sincerely hope a Startouch elf doesn’t distract the bus driver,” Harrow said, his tone light. But the joke fell flat, Viren lacking the energy to summon a polite laugh even for Harrow.

“I submitted next term’s syllabi already,” Viren said, placing his reading glasses in his inside jacket pocket. Best to get business settled and avoid any further compulsory pleasantries, his mood still too acerbic to stomach it.

“Thank you, but that’s…not why I’m here.” Harrow closed the door and Viren felt anxiety creep up.

“Oh?” he said, forcing normalcy into his voice.

“I came to apologize.”

“Oh.” Viren blinked, stunned into silence beyond one syllable. He sat, waiting for Harrow to elaborate.

“I’ve behaved like a child,” Harrow continued, settling in across from Viren. “I acted like – like I had a right to you when I didn’t. I’m not sure why – maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Viren interjected.

Harrow met his gaze, offering half a smile. “You’re right – I owe you that much.” He pressed his lips together. “You’re my best friend, Viren. You always have been. Unwavering loyal. Perhaps…too loyal.”

Viren dropped his eyes, pushing the inevitable blush down.

“And I got used to it,” Harrow continued. “Then suddenly you’re spending every moment with someone new…” He shrugged. “I’ve been jealous. After losing Sarai, I…well. I certainly haven’t handled things well. I couldn’t bear to lose you both together.”

Viren stared. _Harrow, jealous?_

“So I want to apologize,” Harrow said. “For being ungrateful. You’re your own man. You’re allowed to have other friends.”

Viren opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Correct Harrow about Aaravos being his _friend?_ Accept the apology? Throw Harrow out of his office and his life for good?

_No, I can’t do that. I can’t let him go._

“Thank you,” he said at length. “I appreciate you taking the time to say that. And I…also apologize. I admit that sometimes I forget you’re still in mourning. I haven’t been a very good friend to you when you needed it.”

“I think we can both admit to being bad friends.”

Viren snorted a brief laugh. “An understatement.”

Harrow nodded. “But we can try harder for each other. Friends again?”

“Yes, I – ” Viren closed his mouth, giving Harrow a frustrated look. “Well. You know that’s up to you.”

“Me?” Harrow said, surprised. “I’ve always been your friend, Viren.”

“You _say_ that,” Viren said, motioning in exasperation. “But you know I can’t be _just_ your friend. Not when you…when you _initiate_ things. I rely on you to hold to my boundaries.”

“You make it sound like you’re addicted,” Harrow said lightly.

“I have been!” Viren snapped. He took a long breath, unwilling to have this conversation yet again, harsh words bubbling in his throat. “It must seem strange to you when you’ve never felt the same.”

“Come now, Viren,” Harrow said softly. “I’ve always loved you.”

_He. Is. Insufferable._

“Not the same way,” Viren said, teeth clenched. “Can we drop this? If you promise to keep things platonic, we can move past it.”

_Eventually._

“Very well. Platonic.”

A strained silence fell, Viren wishing he would leave and give Viren space to breathe. The truth was that Viren no longer knew how to be Harrow’s platonic friend, too many memories tinged with the heat of desperate nights spent together.

“Well,” Harrow said, obligatory lightness in his tone, “I admit I’m pleased to see how well you and Aaravos get along. I worried that he wouldn’t acclimate to a human lifestyle.”

_Finally! Finally, something to talk about that isn’t us._

“Yes, he…has some learning to do,” Viren said, “but he’s a brilliant man. Er – elf. And there is such _potential.”_

Harrow raised his eyebrows at the enthusiasm in Viren’s voice. “Are things moving that quickly between you?”

“Of course,” Viren said, frowning at the question. “You’re not a mage, Harrow. You don’t understand how _magnificent_ his knowledge is, how it can help further what we know about dark magic, about magic altogether – ”

Harrow laughed and Viren paused, perplexed at this reaction.

“Magic!” Harrow exclaimed, slapping his knee in amusement. “Is that what you meant?”

“What else would I – ”

_Oh._

The blush roared back, made worse for Harrow having caused it.

“I – well, I – ”

Harrow’s laugh deepened. “I’m only joking, old man. Don’t look so stricken.”

Viren managed a strangled laugh, clenching his hands on his thighs to prevent pulling at his tie.

“Why, did I hit it on the nose?” Harrow teased. “I’ve heard a few rumors in the department, but I took them as just that – rumors.”

“Of course,” Viren grumbled.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I – I’m not – ”

“It won’t hurt my feelings if you’re interested in him, Viren.”

_No, of course it wouldn’t._

The blush burned like a fever, Viren stewing in it, unable to lift his eyes to meet Harrow’s. “It’s not that simple.”

Now Harrow looked surprised, as if he didn’t expect any manner of response except denial. Then he grinned. “So were the students right about you two holed up in here and making out during office hours?”

 _“Maybe if you hadn’t – ”_ Viren caught the frustration too late, a hand over his mouth.

Harrow stared, astonished.

The hand traveled to rub tired eyes. Why could he never say what he wanted to Harrow’s face?

“I can’t do this,” Viren said softly.

Harrow sighed. “I’m trying, Viren. I’m just giving you a hard time. Like friends.”

“I can’t just shake off what we used to be, Harrow.” Viren let tense shoulders slump over the desk. “And I can’t talk to you about this. Not yet. I’m sorry – I know you’re having a hard time after Sarai, I do. But I – ”

“But you can talk to Aaravos.”

Viren flinched at the hardness of his tone, but the fear caught fire, evaporated by the indignation that Harrow could have the audacity to be offended –

“Yes,” Viren said, too loudly. “Yes, I can.”

“You don’t think that’s odd?” Harrow asked. “You’ve barely known him for a month and he’s already moved into your house.”

“He’s always been honest with me about where I stand with him.”

“So was I,” Harrow countered. “Always. It just wasn’t the truth you wanted.”

Viren’s temper flared, white and searing.

_The audacity._

If Harrow hadn’t kept coming back to Viren, they wouldn’t be having this fight. If Harrow had dealt with his grief like an adult, Viren wouldn’t be suffering with what could have been. If Harrow hadn’t kissed him that night in college, they wouldn’t have started anything at all and Viren could have continued to live his tortured, closeted life – 

Viren stood, his chair groaning a protest at the abrupt action. “You should go.”

Harrow sighed, shaking his head, but he rose, buttoning his jacket. “If that’s what you want. But remember, Viren: I am your friend.”

“Then act like one and stop trying to poison me against someone _you_ set me up with.” It was stifling in the office, Harrow’s presence a constant source of fire, consuming every bit of oxygen, drowning him.

Maybe he should have let things lie; maybe he should have tried to be Harrow’s friend and let him make jokes, but right now, with the sear of old memories, he needed someone to blame, to hate – 

And Viren was tired of hating himself.

Harrow looked taken aback by the hostility in Viren’s tone, still shaking his head. “You’re a real bastard sometimes,” he said. But he left, flinging open the door with enough violence to reveal how angry he really was, but Viren let him go, his absence and the door finally letting in fresh air.

Viren inhaled it, held it, and sat down again, shaking under the restoration of his lungs and his will.

_This, too, shall pass._

But in the meantime, he could find solace with Aaravos.


	9. Sac Banane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Je te déshabille des yeux  
> Dans l'ascenseur  
> À l'hôtel on se frôle un peu  
> Y'a pas de panne mais on l'espère  
> Je prends ta main, tu sais pas oú je t'emmène  
> Déambulant dans la marée de sacs banane  
> À Paris les amants s'enluminent! crie le majordome  
> Cours plus vite que ça, attrape-moi ah ah!  
> Can you fit me in your bag  
> In that little pocket  
> I can be discreet until you go ahead and rock it  
> Then the screams we unleash  
> With a mask or leash  
> We can do it all if you promise  
> To reach real deep 
> 
> “Sac Banane,” Ingrid St-Pierre

Viren slammed the door of his Mercedes, feeling the angry vibration as he stalked up the driveway. A too-aggressive toss of his keys saw them slip across the side table and clang dissonantly down the wall and onto the stone tile.

“Dad?”

Claudia poked her head out from the kitchen and just as quickly jumped out of his way, watching with wide eyes as he dropped takeout on the counter.

“Rough day?” she asked, her smile forced.

“Yes,” Viren said shortly. “Do we own sake cups?”

“Sake…? I – I don’t know – ”

“These’ll work.” Soren appeared, sliding two small ceramic bowls in front of him. “You get sushi for us?”

“Are you okay, Dad?” Claudia asked, eyebrows knitting. “What happened?”

“Harrow.” The name was clipped, bitter.

Soren and Claudia exchanged glances but Viren ignored their concern, digging out two Styrofoam containers and pushing the rest toward Soren.

“I didn’t know what you wanted so I ordered too much,” he said. “Is Aaravos in his room?”

“Yeah,” Soren said, eyes wide on the half-dozen containers stacked in front of him. “This is _awesome._ Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome, son. Claudia, make sure he doesn’t make himself sick.” So saying, Viren seized the bowls and foam containers and marched upstairs, away from the prying eyes and ears of his well-meaning but invasive children.

He paused at Aaravos’ door, the now-familiar scent of incense seeping from the cracks. The smell was a trigger, Viren’s shoulder’s slumping with fatigue, body relaxing just a little with the knowledge that in this room, he was safe and far from the wounds he and Harrow constantly reopened.

“Come in,” Aaravos’ deep voice called at Viren’s soft knock. Viren pushed in immediately, soothed by the night of the room, the gently twinkling lights that kept it from full darkness, the stacks of books that rose like castle walls. Aaravos was reclined on his bed – that mismatched collection of pillows and cushions, gauzy fabric draped over it like an ethereal tent. He always changed into his native clothing when he arrived home, those soft, near-transparent robes that showed too much glittered skin. Viren hadn’t admitted aloud that he loved evenings most of all, spent in this otherworldly room with a beautiful god for a guide – he hardly admitted it to himself.

But he did now, unabashedly, too exhausted from the effort of being Harrow’s _platonic friend,_ of their constant emotional warfare. Here, he could forget that, surrounded by whatever magic Aaravos infused into the walls and books and very air.

“You look tired,” Aaravos said kindly. “Come in. Sit.”

Viren did, unceremoniously kicking off his oxfords at the door and padding over the cushions in his socks, collapsing on the pillow beside Aaravos.

“I brought dinner,” he announced, avoiding Aaravos’ comment about his appearance. “Sushi.”

“Ah, delightful!” Aaravos said, with a soft clap of his hands.

Viren faltered in opening the top container, distracted by the movement.

_Cute._

A being some hundreds, if not thousands of years old, as enchanted as a child.

That kind of charm was intoxicating.

He shifted on the pillow, offering Aaravos a pair of chopsticks. “I brought a bottle of sake as well,” he mused, “although I’ve never tried it myself.”

“An experiment for both of us,” Aaravos purred, with a sideways glance that made the bottle slip in Viren’s hands.

_He’s so different from Harrow,_ Viren thought. The openness, the blatant delight of being near Viren, of sharing simple things like new food and drink –

“Thank you,” he said, thought thinking.

Aaravos gently took the bottle from his hands, cocking his head curiously. “Oh? What have I done to warrant your gratitude?”

“Just…by being you, I suppose,” Viren said, struggling to find the words to explain. “Because you have never made me feel guilty for…being me.”

Aaravos’ curiosity faded, a melancholy thoughtfulness replacing it as he twisted the bottle open.

“Harrow,” he said.

Now the guilt came, a great flood of it, for sullying this sacred place with the name of everything Viren wished to leave behind.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I should stop bringing him up – ”

“You didn’t,” Aaravos broke in softly. “Tell me what happened.”

“He’s – he’s impossible,” Viren said, with a snort. “He thinks we can just sweep this all under the rug and pretend it isn’t festering under our feet. As if I can simply be his friend and forget. It’s insulting – offensive – as if what I felt for him was that superficial.”

His temper faded, the too-familiar pain seeping into his chest instead.

“As if what I felt was as superficial as what he felt for me.”

“Perhaps that is the truth,” Aaravos murmured, placing the stone bowl in his hands. “How would that make you feel?”

_“Angry,”_ Viren spat. “Hurt.” Again his temper struggled in the wake of the heavier flood of agony. “Disillusioned.”

“Because you thought he might change his mind about you?”

“Yes,” Viren said, wincing at how wistful that sounded aloud. “Maybe that’s my fault. I…should have known better.”

“He encouraged you.”

“He did!” Viren said, hurriedly correcting the bowl he nearly upended in his lap. “I…I think it’s supposed to be served hot,” he added lamely.

Aaravos reached for the bowl and Viren offered it back; but Aaravos simply cupped his hands, a gentle warmth growing there, rising through Viren’s skin and into the bowl, the sake beginning to steam. Viren’s eyes moved from the steam to the ethereal glow of Aaravos’ body, of the white shine of the great star on his chest.

_Would it be as warm as his hands?_

“Go on,” the elf whispered, guiding the bowl to Viren’s lips.

The sake was warm now, smooth and dry and nutty.

_It would taste better on his lips._

Viren struggled to recall his previous laments, almost entirely distracted by the pure magic contained within Aaravos’ body, and what that might feel like against his.

“It’s like we constantly tell each other the truth, and neither of us understand the other. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

“Perhaps the difficulty is a sign,” Aaravos said, “for you to finally clean the wound and let it heal.”

Viren snorted, looking down at the rippling of his sake. “And would you still want me? Wounded?”

“I want every part of you,” Aaravos murmured, now guiding the bowl to his own mouth, Viren mesmerized by the brief appearance of his tongue, licking the wine from his lips. “You speak as if your experiences are scars.”

“A – aren’t they?” Viren’s blood raced, his anger replaced with something else, something sweeter, hotter, drunk off of a single shared sip of wine.

“Your experiences – your loves, your losses – they are artworks on your soul,” Aaravos said, taking another sip, fingertips trailing over Viren’s hands. “If you cannot show them to the world, then it is a great loss to all.”

He was impossibly close, the warm wine on his breath, Viren’s pulse loud in his ears –

“Now,” he said, not fully understanding what he asked for but wanting it desperately. “Now, please.”

Aaravos obliged immediately, leaning in to kiss him. Aaravos’ lips were soft and warm and Viren’s eyes closed at the touch of him, a moment of gentle delicacy, of unexpected tenderness.

The heat came a second later, Viren pressing against him unthinkingly, against his mouth (lips crushed together), against his body (the warmth of the star and Aaravos’ bare skin frustratingly stopped by Viren’s clothes), arms pulling at Aaravos’ arms, shoulders, fingers grasping blindly at silken hair –

Aaravos broke the kiss gently, eyes bright as they studied Viren. He was vaguely aware, beneath the thunder of blood in his head, that his chest heaved, his cheeks burned, composure tossed carelessly aside –

“There. Absolutely _ruined,”_ Aaravos purred, running cool fingers through Viren’s hair. “There is the passion you hide from the world. What _perfection._ Hide it from them, if you must, but never from me. Let it be mine alone.”

_Ruined._

Viren loathed the word and the images it conjured, hated how pleased Aaravos was to bring him to this state, hated the need for it, the _want_ for it –

He crushed his mouth against Aaravos’ again to shut him up, to swallow those hateful, wonderful words, hands roving from Aaravos’ back to explore further, through hair, over the warm skin of the back of his neck –

He felt the smooth coolness of Aaravos’ horns and pushed his tongue into Aaravos’ mouth, barely suppressing the moan of how good he felt, the hot silk of the elf’s tongue, tasting of sake and something sweeter, as if he could taste Aaravos’ honeyed desire for him. Aaravos _moaned;_ Viren couldn’t be sure whether it was his tongue or fingers along the graceful curve of his horns and so he pressed on with both, _needing_ to hear that deep, desperate sound again –

_“Viren.”_

Aaravos pulled back; Viren felt the sudden, urgent satisfaction in the elf’s disheveled appearance, his face flushed with a violet glow, the stars on his cheeks more brilliant than ever, eyes wide and too bright.

_He wants me._

Of course Aaravos had been vocal about that, but always with that damned smile, that sense of composure and control. But now, with his lips swollen from desperate kisses, pupils black with lust, those wonderfully filthy sounds Viren now knew he could make – 

“You’re tired,” Aaravos said softly.

Viren shook his head automatically – just a taste wasn’t fair, not when his heart threatened to burst, his blood raced too hot within. He wasn’t tired now, he was _hungry –_

“Come now,” Aaravos said, with a fond smile. “I am just as eager as you, but you have been so careful until now. Your boundaries are important to you. You need to rest, and to revisit them tomorrow. I can be patient.”

It was on the tip of Viren’s tongue to object (how could he patient _now,_ after that bout of intensity?), but the logic of his words trickled in between heartbeats, and he drew a long breath, willing his body to slow.

“…you may be right,” Viren murmured, annoyed by this, and by the sheer temptation Aaravos had become. He had always been beautiful and tempting, but now, _now -_

He let out a groan and fell backwards against the pillows, running an impatient hand through his hair.

Aaravos gave a soft laugh, tossing his head, which left his hair smooth and perfect once more – patently unfair, when Viren could only imagine what he had been reduced to himself.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Viren grumbled. He wasn’t actually offended by it (not when Aaravos’ laughter was a pealed pleasure, so deliciously low); but his current frustration made him say it nonetheless, if only to preserve his dignity. 

“At you? No, I am merely…happy.” Aaravos beamed at him, eyes closing briefly like a pleased cat.

“Because of one kiss?” Viren snorted.

“Because of everything I felt in that kiss,” Aaravos said, leaning back on the cushions to level their eyes, the bowl of sake offered like a symbol of peace. “Because now I can be sure.”

Viren rolled his eyes, unable to help it at this sentimentality. “I’m not in the habit of…going to bed with just anyone.”

“I know. That is exactly why I am pleased.” Aaravos sipped the wine, sighing contentedly. “You’ve chosen me, even if we move slowly.”

Viren resisted the urge to squirm at this declaration of commitment, but Aaravos was right, of course. The list of his lovers had been short and deliberate: there had been Harrow, and Lissa, and Harrow again. And now Aaravos.

Well. Not _lovers_ yet –

_Yet._

Now Viren did squirm, taking the bowl from Aaravos to have something else to think about other than the inevitability of his relationship with the elf beside him. The pleased, preening, beaming elf beside him.

It was almost impossible to remain sour with a creature so beautiful smiling at him in a way meant for no one else, and so Viren’s mood softened, his face turning automatically back toward Aaravos, eyes drifting to his lips –

“Ah,” Aaravos said, putting a finger against Viren’s mouth, still smiling. “No more tonight.”

Viren snorted, but even to him it sounded petulant.

“Come now, don’t pout.”

“I’m _not – ”_

“We still have dinner,” Aaravos interrupted, unmoved by Viren’s tone. “Tell me about sushi.”

Viren sighed but sat up; the elf was always right – he needed to slow down, process the argument with Harrow, process the sheer chemistry with Aaravos. And he needed to eat. And so he taught Aaravos about sushi, offering a variety to determine his preferences, chuckling as the elf struggled with chopsticks and two less fingers (laughing considerably less when Aaravos used those slim fingers to pluck smoked salmon from a roll and suck it into his mouth between those perfect dark lips). 

Dinner reminded Viren of how right Aaravos was; exhaustion descended like nightfall, his body heavy with food and too many emotions when he preferred none at all. Their evening ritual of exchanging books only served to lull Viren closer to sleep, Aaravos humming in amusement when he jerked out of a light doze, the book still open in his lap.

“You deserve an early night,” Aaravos said, placing a ribbon marker between the pages with his free hand.

“It’s barely after eight,” Viren protested, watching Aaravos place the book on top of the nearest stack.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said reasonably, and with his book still held open in one hand, he seized Viren’s shoulder with the other, pulling him down onto the cushions, his head cradled in Aaravos’ lap.

Viren stared up at his pleased face, his own warming too quickly. “What are you – Aaravos, I’m not a child.”

“You pout like one,” the elf chided. “Receiving comfort is not exclusive to children.”

Viren made a noise of protest in the back of his throat, the sound dying at the first touch of cool fingers in his hair. In an instant, his body sagged, muscles turning limp, betraying his pride without a thought.

“Bastard,” Viren murmured, even as his eyes fluttered closed, head leaning into the gentle pets, the hand that trailed lovingly through his hair and down his cheek. He felt Aaravos chuckle but it was too low to hear, instead vibrating through Viren like a pulse, calm and soothing. The room fell silent but for the quiet sound of turned pages above him, and then sleep – black, warm, and deep.

*

Viren became aware of the smell of coffee before anything else. He let out a soft groan of sleepiness, peering out one eye to find a mug immediately in front of him.

“Good morning,” came Aaravos’ contented purr.

Viren opened both eyes now; Aaravos stood over him, impossibly tall, sunlight spilling over him, the glittering of his skin and horns too bright. Viren shut his eyes again, already registering the suit Aaravos wore, becoming vaguely aware of his own rumpled clothing, of the unfamiliar cushions and pillows under him.

“What – what time is it?” Viren asked, his voice hoarse, blindly reaching for the mug as Aaravos knelt beside him.

“Just after seven.” He withdrew the mug and Viren let out a whine, eyes shooting open when Aaravos pressed a hard kiss against his mouth. Viren only had time to flail before Aaravos broke the kiss, looking disgustingly pleased with himself, placing the mug in Viren’s stunned hands. 

“You – you – ” Viren fought for words, shaking his head and taking a sip of coffee. “You can’t just… _do that.”_

“Oh?” Aaravos said, raising an amused eyebrow. “Why not? You seemed open to it last night.”

The blush came, Viren’s barriers against it still asleep. _Last night_ was a foggy memory of exhaustion and overwrought passion he hadn’t expected – nor fought against. And the morning kiss, without warning, threatened to follow that same recklessness.

“Because I – I wasn’t expecting – ”

“You don’t enjoy spontaneity in romance?”

“Well, no, that’s not what I – ” Viren’s head spun at the speed at which the morning began, blood racing from the kiss in all areas but his brain. He was almost certain Aaravos was being purposely obtuse now, teasing him to watch him squirm. 

“I don’t mind it,” Viren mumbled, for lack of anything else to say.

“Excellent.”

“But not at work,” Viren said quickly, horrified by the passing thought, of the whispers of students that made their way up to the dean himself.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I prefer to keep things…professional,” Viren said, voice and body stiff, rolling his shoulders.

Aaravos hummed, considering this. “But if we are mated, am I not permitted to display my affections? Why would that be a problem?”

_Mated._

He spoke like a narrator in a nature documentary, as if he didn’t speak perfect English. But what Aaravos’ motivation might be for using overly academic language could be, Viren wasn’t sure. Perhaps to tease, or enjoy Viren’s attempts in explaining the obvious. After all, why he would use _mate_ and not _lovers –_

No – no, that was _entirely_ worse.

“Would it be a problem?” Aaravos pressed, when Viren shook the word _lover_ in Aaravos’ voice from his brain.

“It’s…well.” Viren sipped his coffee, struggling to explain something this complicated moments after waking. “It’s not that humans keep their partners secret – not usually.”

“So then why should we?”

“I’m a very private person, Aaravos, and it’s no one else’s business but ours.”

“Precisely,” Aaravos said. “Then what they think is not important.”

“What? – no, I – hmmmph!” Viren started when Aaravos stooped for another abrupt kiss, warm coffee spilling over the lip of the mug and onto his hand.

“Will you _stop_ that!” Viren hissed, as Aaravos slipped back up and opened the bedroom door.

“Off to the shower,” he said, ignoring Viren’s chiding, “or we’ll be late.”

He was right – he was right about an annoying number of things – and so Viren could only glare as he stood, wiping coffee onto rumpled pants and swallowing a gulp of it so that he could glare more threateningly when he passed by Aaravos and into the hall.

\- where he collided immediately with Claudia.

The coffee seeped warmly into his shirt and he gave a labored sigh.

“Oh – Dad, I’m sorry!” Claudia seized the mug (now half empty), stabilizing what was left, flailing helplessly at what was already staining his dress shirt.

“It’s fine, Claudia, I was about to shower anyway,” Viren said, with another defeated sigh.

“I’ll get you another,” Aaravos said, dark fingers reaching to pluck the mug from Claudia’s hands.

“Shower?” Claudia said, glancing at her wristwatch. “Kinda late today, Dad.”

Viren opened his mouth just as her eyes fell on his clothing – crumbled and slept in, cuffs undone (by Aaravos last night, no doubt), now coffee-stained –

_Could this get any worse?_

Claudia glanced at Aaravos’ open door, at the two of them –

_Come now, Claudia, it’s hardly that complicated,_ Viren thought, resisting the urge to tap his foot impatiently.

“Oh!” Her entire face transformed from confusion to perfect clarity.

_There it is._

Viren sighed again, feeling the soft chuckle from Aaravos.

“It’s not what you think,” Viren said, feeling as though he had already had a conversation with Claudia that began this exact way. “We were working, I fell asleep, and Aaravos was kind enough to let me stay.”

“Now, Viren,” Aaravos broke in smoothly, as Claudia’s face turned disappointed. “That isn’t the whole truth, is it?”

_Damn him._

“We’re not having this conversation yet,” Viren hissed.

“You said not at work,” Aaravos pointed out, irritatingly correct. “Your children don’t fall under that stipulation.”

Claudia’s eyes, wide with anticipation, darted from Viren to Aaravos.

“Fine!” Viren barked, wishing to just get this over with and drown himself in the shower. “Tell her.”

“Me?” Aaravos asked, his tone exaggeratingly innocent. “I wouldn’t presume to interfere with your parenting.”

_Absolute bastard._

A power play, simply laid out to make Viren say the thing aloud, to admit it to his family. He grit his teeth, determined not to let Aaravos win the morning so easily.

“We have decided,” Viren said stiffly, “to…see each other in a manner other than professional.”

Claudia squinted at him.

“So you’re…dating?” she translated slowly.

Viren closed his eyes against the bluntness of the question.

“Yes, Claudia,” he said wearily. “We’re dating.”

Aaravos preened, he and Claudia exchanging smiles, far too pleased by this than either had any right to be.

“Oh, Dad, I’m so happy you two are finally dating – ”

“You’re dating?” Soren appeared in the hallway, Viren unable to reply as Claudia embraced him, crushing the life from his lungs. “Way to go, Dad. I was beginning to think you’d chicken out for good.”

_I’m in hell._

Viren eased Claudia’s arms from his waist, clearing his throat. “…thank you, Soren. I appreciate your faith in me. Now, please – I need to get ready for work.”

“Of course, Dad,” Claudia said, with that same enormous smile, proud of him for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He slipped past his children hurriedly, away from their eyes and Aaravos’ pompous airs, closing his bedroom door and sighing against it.

“Did he spend the night in Aaravos’ room?” Soren’s muffled voice carried through the cracks, Viren wincing.

“Yeah, but he _says_ nothing happened,” Claudia replied dubiously, and Viren stalked into the bathroom, turning on the shower to drown out their invasive speculation, wondering – not for the first time – what had induced him to have children.

*

“So,” Claudia announced, placing a cup of coffee on Viren’s desk one morning. “What _really_ happened with you and Aaravos?”

Viren glanced up from the coffee, over the rims of his reading glasses and papers in his lap.

She met his surprised look with one of admirable intimidation – one that might have worked if Viren didn’t know her to cry at every movie where a fictional dog died.

“What do you mean?” he asked at length, when he seemed he could not simply ignore this new line of indiscreet questioning. “Did he mention something to you?”

“No,” she said, straightening up and crossing her arms. “He didn’t have to.”

“Claudia, he already speaks in riddles half the time. I can’t have you picking up that habit. What are you talking about?”

“You two!” she said, motioning at him with both arms. “You spent the night with him once – yes, I _know_ nothing happened, then you announce you’re dating, and then? What? It’s been a week since then and I’ve hardly seen you together at all!”

Viren let out an exasperated noise, pulling off his glasses with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. “Claudia,” he said, with more patience than he felt, “I know you’re trying to help, but – ”

“You’re going to lead him on until he gives up and finds someone else!”

Viren stared, eyes widening at this declaration. For a moment he couldn’t speak, mouth dry. He reached for the coffee, brows furrowing. “Did…he say that? That I’m leading him on?”

“No,” Claudia admitted. “But you can’t tell me the thought doesn’t scare you.”

“…Claudia.”

“Don’t _Claudia_ me, Dad,” she said, huffing with more feeling than he expected from her. “Come on! I know you’re still healing, but you’re not letting Aaravos in! You can’t just – just spend the night in his room and then pretend nothing happened!”

“You don’t know what happened,” Viren said, frustrated. 

“Then why don’t you tell me?” she asked, slipping into the chair opposite him.

_Damn._ He regarded her eager expression with a growing dread. _Walked right into that one,_ he mulled sullenly, blowing on his coffee. 

“I…I had a bad day,” he grumbled, wondering how much of his romantic life he could bear to reveal to his daughter before he simply caught fire from his blush, or his heart gave out under the strain of the embarrassment. “Harrow and I had a fight – another one. He’s…trying. And I’m trying. But it’s a process, and it caught me by surprise.”

Claudia listened, her expression half intent, half surprised by Viren’s openness without further antagonizing.

“I vented to Aaravos,” Viren said, with a shrug. “I…don’t recall what he said, exactly. Something about how…what I called my faults were marks on my soul. Like art.”

Claudia blinked overwide eyes.

“So I – I kissed him,” Viren mumbled into his coffee. “It seemed like the right time to do it.”

“Your first?” Claudia breathed.

Viren cleared his throat. “Er – yes. Our first.”

“Oh, Dad, that’s so romantic!”

Viren winced. “If you say so,” he said lowly.

“And that’s all? You talked about it after?”

Viren made a noise of protest automatically. “I don’t really want to – ”

“Daaaad. You _did_ talk about it, didn’t you?”

_“Yes,_ fine,” Viren said petulantly. “Not for lack of trying to – ”

He shut his mouth, pressing lips together. _No need for her to hear everything._

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Viren said stiffly. “I was tired, he let me sleep there. That’s all.”

“Is it?”

Viren met her eyes, the raised eyebrow that called him a liar.

“It was…intense,” he said softly. “Claudia, I – it’s been a long time since your mother. And Harrow – ” He shook his head. “I have bad luck in this department. I’m afraid that with…how much I…”

Claudia sighed, her expression soft, pitying. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “You’re gonna break my heart. You’re supposed to be the one telling me that one or two heartbreaks doesn’t mean you should give up on love.”

Viren bristled. “I never said that I _love – ”_

“But you _like_ him. A lot. I can tell,” she announced, with all the authority of being his daughter.

Viren sighed heavily.

“So stop running away from him every time you _feel_ something. He doesn’t deserve that, you know.”

Viren picked at the corrugated cardboard of his coffee slip, annoyed at this conversation and how right Claudia was about all of this.

“Maybe this is all moving too quickly,” he said.

“Dad, he’s the immortal one. I don’t think you have that kind of time. You’re not getting any younger!”

“Claudia!”

“I’m kidding, Dad. Just…take him out to dinner again. Stop avoiding him.”

_She’s right. Avoiding him is only making me feel guiltier._

“He expressed interest in…attending one of Soren’s baseball games,” Viren said at length.

“Really?” Claudia’s face scrunched. “Why?”

“I think he likes being part of the family.”

“Better tell him we never go to Soren’s games,” Claudia laughed. “But if he wants to…sure, I’ll go. I can take a book, right?”

Viren stewed, imagining the scenario of him and Aaravos at his son’s game, in front of witnesses, students – 

_That’s not what this is about._

Not entirely.

“Come on, Dad,” Claudia said. “Cheer up. You have a gorgeous immortal Startouch elf who dotes on you!”

“That’s the problem!” Viren snapped.

Claudia recoiled slightly, silenced by this outburst.

Viren closed his eyes, drawing a long breath to crush down his temper. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice heavy with everything he couldn’t speak. “Do you ever wonder why?”

“Why what, Dad?” Claudia asked gently.

“If Aaravos is beautiful, powerful, kind, patient – if he’s perfect, what does he see in me?”

He kept his head in his hands, hearing Claudia sigh.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Viren snorted, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “It’s not the simplest conversation, Claudia.”

“I don’t mind answering.”

Viren’s head shot up, heart stopping instantly.

_Oh no._

Aaravos stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his lips.

Without a word, Claudia slipped from her chair and out the door, closing it softly behind her.

If only Viren could escape so easily.

He swallowed when Aaravos crossed the room, taking a casual seat on Viren’s desk, long legs stretched out (Viren couldn’t help but follow them to the floor, remembering himself abruptly).

“Is that truly why you’ve been avoiding being alone with me?” he asked, tilting his head, brilliant hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the blinds. “You think yourself unworthy?”

Viren shifted uncomfortably. Aloud, it sounded juvenile, pathetic – the sort of thing teenagers wallowed over with their first crush.

“Every serious relationship I’ve had has ended in disaster,” Viren said, “explicitly _because_ I am not enough. I’m not a good enough husband to my wife, not a good enough lover for Harrow – god only knows I’m not the ideal father to my children – ” He broke himself off, the black feelings of inadequacy rising like bile in his throat. “Compared to you, it’s…laughable that I would measure up.”

Aaravos’ face lost its humor, lips downturned with soft melancholy. “Viren,” he chided. “Viiiiren.”

Viren huffed impatiently, disquieted by the elf’s soothing tones. He didn’t want reassurances that could be false; he didn’t want promises made that could be easily broken later.

But Aaravos offered none of that.

“Would you like to know my sins?” he asked. “Shall I explain exactly why I am drawn to you?”

Viren’s lips parted, but he couldn’t think to respond. It hadn’t, even once, occurred to him that Aaravos wasn’t perfect.

But somehow this revelation was more tempting than any form of perfection could be.

“Please,” he said at length. “It would help me…with perspective.”

Aaravos nodded, eyes drifting to the window, watching the movement of the students below. “I’m a fallen star,” he said, and fell silent anew, as if Viren knew what to make of this statement. Aaravos caught the look and smiled, but this smile was altered – bitter.

Viren had never seen that expression cross Aaravos’ face before.

“For years – more than I can count or recall – I’ve been imprisoned. My work in magic has been rejected by the powers that be in Xadia, my reputation as an archmage destroyed, my powers stripped to a fraction of what they once were.”

Aaravos’ voice was hard now, pointed like the tip of a sword, the fresh blood of hostility dripping. Viren shivered, fascinated by the turn of his conversation, by the calm rage that boiled unknown beneath Aaravos’ cool skin.

“I’ve been granted freedom,” Aaravos continued, the word almost spat out, “so long as I never return to Xadia. Once I was a great mage, ancient and revered. And now – ” He gave an elegant shrug, the venom in his voice dark and deep, a river underground. “Now, I cower in human kingdoms, teaching their unskilled young, parts of my soul – my very essence – torn from me.”

_Fascinating._

To think that Aaravos once had more power than what radiated from him now – 

Viren wet his lips, listening raptly. He hardly knew what to say, what to ask. “They…they don’t have to remain unskilled,” he said, his voice breathless. “Humans can be taught!”

“Yes!” Aaravos said, eyes glowing with Viren’s enthusiasm. “Yes, precisely! _You_ see that, in a world of humans without an original thought in their minds! You have, with only the texts of dead mages, made dark magic into a discipline – into an art!”

Warmth bubbled up in Viren’s chest at this praise – personal and professional at once, too much to stand without blood rising into his cheeks. 

“I thought,” Aaravos said, his tone edged with passion, “that if I could find you, meet you, learn of how you built a branch of magic to suit your needs – ”

Viren furrowed his brow, keeping up with Aaravos’ implications now. “You…want me to help you regain your powers?”

“It may not be possible. But if it is, you’re very likely the only human capable of that.”

“But why were you banished in the first place?”

“For the same reason Harrow is not brave enough to stand by your side – for the exploration of dark magic. Xadians declare all life to be sacred, and so my methods – your methods – were too much for simpler minds to understand. They could imprison me, banish me, take my strength – but they were cowards not to kill me.”

Viren felt a thrill in that statement, in the dark blood behind the sparkle of Aaravos’ cheeks, the shine of his hair and stars in his skin.

“Finding a method to regain my powers was my goal in coming here, but my immediate plans have changed,” he said, his voice softening as his eyes studied Viren’s face. “Even should it prove impossible, I have something just as valuable. I think fate intervened when I happened upon that website with your photograph.”

Viren resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the poetry of the statement. “I can’t imagine why you were even on that site.”

“Simple: I placed a photo of you in a search, and your profile came up.”

Viren stared. 

_He was only there to find me?_

“I - it was simple chance that my children made a profile for me. I would have never done so myself.”

“Then I must remember to thank your children,” Aaravos said. “Elves have no qualms regarding our mates, but as I understand from human culture, some find shame in their desires.”

Viren shifted, clearing his throat. “Yes, well – I’m not in the habit of advertising my…inclinations.”

“Ah, all the more reason I was delighted to find you on a site devoted to masculine affections!” 

Viren winced. “Must you phrase things like that?” he grumbled.

“You must understand, Viren: I found someone who understands exactly how I feel. The bitterness, the rejection, the feeling that you are capable of great things, and no one else sees it. The creeping suspicion that you’ve spent your life deluded, that you’re not better than anyone else, but instead a great disappointment. We are like-minded, Viren. We have a passion for knowledge that reaches beyond arbitrary morality. We can be gods, in our own right, by our own hands.”

Viren stared, eyes wide against the things this speech made him feel, too many years of dissatisfaction rising up in his throat, hot and sour.

“And you!” Aaravos said. “You looked at me and called me beautiful. You looked at me as if I am not a reject of my people, or of Xadia. You looked at me like something to be treasured, honored, respected. You remind me of what I am worth, and how much I desire to be valued. And now I want nothing more than to give you the same gift. I will, Viren, if you let me.”

Viren tried to swallow but it stuck in his throat and he let out a shaky breath. “I – I don’t know that I’ve done anything so grand,” he stammered.

“Of course you have. We share so much in common and yet you revere me in ways you seem incapable of turning onto yourself. You deserve more than what you’ve been granted in this life. You deserve more than Harrow. And I would like to be the one to give it to you.”

Viren stared at the earnest expression on Aaravos’ face, thoughts racing with everything he had been told – Aaravos, just like him, a mage disgraced for trying to further the boundaries of magic and science – 

No one had ever told him something so simple – that Viren deserved something he wanted.

“Why don’t you then?” The words left him of their own accord; panic considered stealing them back, but resolve let them stay spoken unchallenged. 

Aaravos raised his eyes, widening at the question. Blue lips parted as he searched Viren’s face to confirm what had been said.

Viren took a long breath, not sure of anything except that he wanted Aaravos.

_We’re both damaged._

A great relief, to know that Aaravos saw his flaws as something to rejoice rather than weaponize. Viren could lower the walls, dismantle them completely, and Aaravos would not use it as an opportunity.

Aaravos was still staring and so Viren gave a brief nod. He rose, circling Viren’s desk and leaning over him – a great bow from such a great height, but one Aaravos seemed to give no mind, locking eyes with Viren and making him _feel_ the intimacy of it, Viren’s breath catching too many times as he grew closer. Aaravos brushed his lips against Viren’s mouth and Viren’s eyes fluttered closed at the tease, not quite willing to give the final push himself. A cool hand cupped one cheek and Viren’s reluctance evaporated in the heat of his impatience; he raised his chin abruptly, lips locked. He felt the surprise ripple through Aaravos and was glad for it. Aaravos sighed into it, fingers brushing gently into Viren’s hair, tracing his beard. A sweet kiss, one that meant more than simply the tensions they had carried for weeks.

_More._

_I want more now._

Viren grasped at Aaravos’ wrist, pressing harder, suddenly in love with the idea that this was more than sexual, more than his body merely reacting to another. This was a joining of two people, of one mind. Aaravos made a noise of surprise now – Viren was intensely pleased by it – but the elf met the pressure in turn, a soft prod of his tongue encouraging Viren to part his lips, to accept him inside –

A knock at the door made Viren pull back. 

A string of colorful, incoherent curses ran through his brain, over his tongue. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, slowly crossing his legs to conceal what Aaravos could do to him.

Aaravos licked his lips and smiled, more suggestive than any creature had a right to be, sauntering to the door and swinging it open widely.

“Ah!” he said, as though unaffected by the interruption. “Dean King, how good of you to stop by.”

Harrow blinked in surprise at Aaravos’ presence (Viren was pleased beyond words by the elf’s shamelessness), coughing lightly. “Viren, I just stopped by to thank you for sending me your syllabus for next term. I’ll see that legal looks it over.”

“Why should the legal department need to review it?” Aaravos questioned before Viren could reply.

“Oh,” Harrow said, with another fake cough. “Well, given the nature of dark magic, they insist on it. Every new term needs the lesson plans reviewed and approved.”

“How strange,” Aaravos said. “Are there mages in legal? People with magical background?”

“Well, no, with how rare – ”

“Non-magic users, judging the use of magic in others,” Aaravos broke in, his tone too innocent to be convincing. “What a curious custom.”

Viren hid his smile in his palm, eyes darting from Aaravos’ smug smile to Harrow’s cautious one. 

“Yes, well, afraid that’s how it’s done around here,” Harrow said. “Again – thanks, Viren.”

“Of course. Although Opeli will balk at my additions to my Magical Theory course.”

“I’ll…talk to her,” Harrow said, still giving Aaravos and Viren suspicious glances.

Aaravos shut the door before Harrow had time to walk off, scoffing aloud. “I don’t like him,” he announced.

Viren laughed aloud. Somehow, the simple statement was amusing beyond words. He wouldn’t want Aaravos to like Harrow, or Harrow to like Aaravos – not right now. It was easier – more satisfying – this way. He watched Aaravos return to the desk, the smile still on his face.

“I love how you laugh,” Aaravos said, and kissed him again. This time the kiss was innocent for only a moment, Aaravos pushing his tongue into Viren’s mouth. Viren shuddered, feeling the stirring of blood, of the ever-growing need for everything Aaravos offered.

“Perhaps,” Viren breathed, between the quickening presses of their lips, “we should pause here and resume at home.”

“Bonding?” Aaravos hummed. “I do not mind.”

“Bonding, yes,” Viren repeated, eyes still closed as his hands ran over Aaravos’ shoulders, down his arms. “But if I may be honest…”

_“Please,”_ came the whisper in his ear, Viren shivering violently.

“I much prefer you in your Xadian clothing.”

Aaravos’ lips turned upward, his smile like a smug cat. “Then perhaps you had best remove these first,” he purred, and laughed, soft and seductive, when Viren turned scarlet.


	10. Infatuate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like it when you're shaking from the waist down  
> Waiting for that moment like you tell me not to stop now  
> I hope you never see me being me, pretending I'm in love with you
> 
> I think I really like you but I'm scared of what I think about  
> Should I carry on with this or should I make it stop now?  
> I hope you never see me being me and falling hopelessly in love with you
> 
> “Infatuate,” Iyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those concerned, this (and one other) chapter are the sole reason for the E rating. You have been warned, you're welcome, and also I apologize possibly.
> 
> The Author

Aaravos sauntered upstairs the moment they arrived home; Claudia raised an eyebrow at his exit but said nothing about it, offering to make dinner as Viren loosened his tie, eyes on Aaravos’ hips swaying up the staircase.

“What?” he said, wrenching his eyes away with effort. “Oh. That…won’t be necessary, Claudia. In fact, I…I wonder if you wouldn’t prefer to go out for dinner. And a movie. Invite one of your friends. Callum. Invite Callum.”

Claudia’s eyes turned into a squint. “You… _want_ me to hang out with Callum? I thought you didn’t like – ”

“Maybe I changed my mind,” Viren huffed impatiently, wishing that just one of his children would be quicker of mind when it was convenient to him.

Claudia laughed. “It sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me for the night, Dad,” she said.

Viren closed his eyes, sighing, and offered her a long look.

“Oh,” she said, catching it at last. _“Oh.”_ She tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially, shooting a glance to where Aaravos had vanished. “Got it. Good thing Soren has practice late tonight, huh?”

The fact that Claudia _got it_ was mild horror in its own right, but Viren couldn’t think of embarrassment when Aaravos consumed every part of his thoughts now.

“Movie tickets are a little pricey these days, and if I take a friend – ”

Viren opened his wallet, shoving bills in her hand. “Here,” he said shortly. “Buy popcorn. Buy the whole concession counter.”

“Wow,” Claudia said, and her expression turned that shade of smug that made Viren want to completely lose his temper. “You really want a night alone with him, huh? Guess he answered your question right.”

“Will you just – ” Viren cut off the angry lecture when Claudia hugged him, squeezing his waist too tightly.

“I’m happy for you, Dad,” she murmured, burying her face against his shoulder.

He slumped, his temper extinguished in an instant. Another sigh – this one resigned – and he returned the hug, patting her back softly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She beamed when she broke away, grabbing her bag and a coat, offering him one more exaggerated wink as she left the house.

Viren let out a long breath from puffed cheeks, feeling as though this entire interaction would poison the evening, Claudia’s knowing expressions dancing in his head.

_Why did I even have children?_ he thought, irritable as he went into the kitchen to pour two glasses of wine. He didn’t know if Aaravos wanted wine, or if they would just – well. They hadn’t talked about an actual plan for the night, and Viren fretted without clear intentions.

Not that Aaravos’ _intentions_ weren’t obvious enough.

Viren drank half his wine before he realized, hastily refilling it and heading to the stairs.

_Was I this nervous with Harrow? With Lissa?_ He couldn’t recall. His first time with Harrow had been too spontaneous for him to have been nervous for more than a minute; his happier memories of Lissa seemed too far away to pull into this moment, and he quickly brushed them both aside.

Aaravos’ door was unlatched and Viren pushed it open, eyes traveling over the familiar mystical atmosphere to where the elf stood by his desk, the human suit discarded for the Xadian style Viren preferred on him –

\- but now without the blue-black leggings. The robes fell softly against the naked, glittered skin of impossibly long legs down to bare feet. Viren’s eyes dropped to them and then slowly roved back up, lips parted in awe of the blue warmth of those stars, of how the shimmering robe was opaque enough to _just_ conceal the most tempting parts of his body.

Viren didn’t realized he had spilled wine until it soaked through his shirt. He hurriedly righted the glass, struggling to slow the barrage of inappropriate thoughts that Aaravos’ skin fomented.

Aaravos laughed. Viren managed to chuckle at himself, shaking his head as he offered the still-full glass to the elf.

“Such a compliment,” Aaravos murmured into his wine, “that I might crack that admirable composure.”

“Hmm,” Viren hummed, peeling his jacket from his shoulders to prevent the wine from ruining more than his shirt. “You knew exactly what you were doing with that outfit.”

Aaravos’ smile spread, Cheshire-like. “Oh?” he asked, his tone the epitome of innocence.

Viren placed his jacket safely on the back of Aaravos’ chair, turning to give Aaravos another long study, sipping his wine. “You know perfectly well how tempting you look.”

“Ah,” Aaravos breathed, lips barely parted. “How direct! I like this side of you.”

The blush threatened but Viren cast it off with a shrug of his shoulders and another sip of wine. “It’s why I’m here tonight, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Aaravos said, all coyness. “But you really should remove that shirt before the stain sets in.”

Viren gave a light snort, but Aaravos was already in front of him, hands on his waist, pulling the shirt tails from his trousers, palms lingering too long to be unintentional. Dark fingers played with the bottom button, Viren’s eyes drifting upward to where Aaravos met his gaze.

“You know how humans age, right?” Viren asked, studying the youthful face of a creature beyond years. “I’m not as young as I was.” But even as he spoke, he knew something like his academic softness wouldn’t deter Aaravos from him now – not when the elf leveled such intensity in his eyes.

“You are not allowed to apologize for any part of you,” Aaravos said, running a thumb across Viren’s lips. “Not tonight.”

Viren’s eyes fluttered closed at that, the coolness of Aaravos’ flesh always so tempting to bite, to taste.

“Tonight, you are all I want, exactly as you are.” He lifted wine to Viren’s lips, letting him swallow before leaning in to kiss him. A perfect kiss, if there was such a thing, soft and sweetly intoxicating, slow with the knowledge that they had all night.

“Tell me,” Aaravos whispered, his breath hot on Viren’s mouth. “Tell me everything you want, and I will give it to you.”

Viren met his eyes for a moment, hands backing Aaravos’ body toward the desk so that he could lean against it. “I want,” he said, all nerves gone with this beautiful, willing creature in front of him, “what you’ve been teasing since the beginning.”

_I want to touch you._

Aaravos’ smile was smug, but the dilation of his pupils betrayed his own desire. “Go on then,” he said.

Viren placed an entire palm on Aaravos’ bare chest, fingers stretching and tracing the glowing star there, the glittered gems scattered over dark skin. He was hot here, the heat of stars encased in cold galaxies – warm porcelain, impossibly smooth. Aaravos chuckled, so low Viren could only feel it, vibrations under his palm. The elf leaned back to rest his body against the desk, gently lifting one leg to gain purchase. Even as his fingers trailed over Aaravos’ chest, Viren’s eyes dropped to the slip of shimmering fabric, another few inches of starry flesh revealed. Aaravos regained Viren’s attention by taking his hand, Viren gasping in surprise at the two fingers that Aaravos sucked into his mouth, velvet tongue running up to the fingertips, a bolt of blood shooting down to Viren’s groin.

He pulled his hand free (shivering at how Aaravos dragged his tongue against him), leaning in to capture that arrogant mouth, his thigh making space between Aaravos’ legs. Aaravos’ mouth was yielding, almost submissive with how easily he accepted Viren’s aggression, flexing his shoulders back as if to invite Viren to keep touching him. A taste of Aaravos’ tongue against his, and then Viren broke away, seeing the surprise on the elf’s face as Viren stooped lower, his mouth clamping onto a dark nipple, tongue dragged over the stiffening bud.

Aaravos shivered against him and Viren lifted his eyes to watch it, already calculating the meaning there. 

_So you’re weak there, elf. Good to know._

Before the night was over, Viren was determined to make Aaravos _shake_ under his touch.

His skin didn’t taste human; rather than the salt Viren knew from Harrow, Aaravos tasted sweeter, as if he had bathed in honey. Viren dragged his tongue from nipple to throat, the vibration of Aaravos’ moan beneath his lips.

“I like this side of you very much,” Aaravos said, eyes fluttering closed, his voice breathy. “Show me. Show me everything you want.”

Viren’s hands were already pushing aside the flimsy fabric of Aaravos’ open robe, sliding it down the starry skin of his shoulders, mouth returning to his nipples. Aaravos grasped at the desk with one hand and the other slipped into Viren’s hair, fingers tugging with every lap of Viren’s tongue. A nudge from Viren’s thigh –

_“Ah!”_

Viren felt his own erection twinge at that sound, deep and wanting, Aaravos hard against his leg. He dropped lower, tasting the trail from chest to abdomen, to the waistband of Aaravos’ robe. His hand drifted, over the silk to trace the hardness beneath it, Aaravos giving another breathy sigh at the contact.

Viren paused, fingers tracing the outline, hotly determining the size, wondering for the first time if the elf had a preference to top, as Harrow had, and whether something like _that_ would fit –

Aaravos laughed, drawing Viren’s attention upward to curled lips. “Comparing me to Harrow?”

Viren flushed, ashamed to be so easy to read. “…not intentionally. I have no intention of speaking about him tonight.”

The smile arched upward further, a graceful hand slipping the top of his robe from his arms, Viren’s eyes locked on the new flesh exposed. Another fluid move of Aaravos’ hand, and he grasped Viren’s chin, drawing him closer for another kiss. This kiss was _filthy,_ the elf’s tongue aggressive, Viren’s groin beginning to ache as his lips pushed back. Blindly, he groped at Aaravos’ robe, fingers closing around the elf’s erection, feeling the tremor that ran through him.

He broke the kiss when Aaravos let out another sound of soft need, each noise giving Viren’s blood a new reason to rush hot through him. He crouched in front of the desk, hands on Aaravos’ smooth thighs, holding his breath as he finally pushed aside the gauzy fabric of the robe.

The stars glittered completely up the elf’s legs, not quite swallowed by the darkness of his skin, glinting in the lamplight as Viren let himself down on his knees, eyes following the curve of star-touched flesh.

_Stars on his -_

He didn’t even finish the thought, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the tip of Aaravos’ cock, the elf’s breath catching. He tasted just as sweet here as everywhere else, but with the heavy scent of sex, whatever intoxicating pheromones elves gave off in these moments. Viren’s hands explored automatically, fingertips tracing the lines of Aaravos’ legs, hips, one hand wrapping around his cock and pumping with the first swallow, Viren’s eyes closing as his mouth worked. 

Delicious – the skin, the scent, the barely audible _ah_ from the elf. Another swallow, another pump, and the elf’s hands suddenly gripped his hair, tightening when Viren ran his tongue over the tip.

_Fall apart for me, elf._

“I see you are talented in this,” Aaravos said, his composure faltering with the heaviness of his breath, eyes fluttering. “Harrow taught you well.”

Viren removed his mouth to glare at the unkindness of this remark, but Aaravos merely laughed, hands guiding Viren’s head back between his legs.

_Bastard._

The laugh was cut short when Viren swallowed him whole, cheeks hollowed, Aaravos shivering, a sharp noise escaping his lips. Now Viren’s attentions escalated, head bobbing more rapidly, tongue dragged along the elf’s length, Aaravos’ fingers digging into Viren’s hair, his breath heavy and quick, no more cruel, pithy comments aired. One last deep throat and Viren pulled away, relishing in the way the elf twitched, eyes locked on how Viren leaned back to wipe his mouth.

Aaravos looked distinctly disappointed by the pause, lips turned down into a pout.

_Good. I’ll make him work for it._

But he gave Viren a heavy-lidded look of interest when Viren rose, unbuttoning his stained shirt.

“Ah,” he breathed, his expression shifting immediately. “How I’ve _waited_ for this,” Aaravos purred, gold eyes on the movement of Viren’s hands, watching for glimpses of human skin. “You are a stubborn man among a stubborn species.”

Viren raised an eyebrow, studying the shameless way Aaravos draped his near-nude body on the desk, reclining to show himself off, to offer himself as before a god.

“I can do worse,” Viren said, slipping the shirt from his shoulders.

Aaravos cocked his head, smug smile remaining, eyes tracing pale skin. “You can’t,” he countered softly. “Not now.”

Viren snorted, reaching for his belt, whipping it off with some aggression. He had no room for self-consciousness now, that damned smirk eclipsing all else – the smirk and the hot desire to wipe it from Aaravos’ face.

“Let me,” Aaravos murmured, sitting up as Viren unbuttoned his pants.

“No.”

Surprise flashed over the elf’s face, lips parting at the refusal.

“Turn around.”

And there it was again, that smirk that dripped smugness and pleasure, the upturn of lips that made Viren’s blood boil with irritation, calling up all the frustrations of the last ten years of his life, of passions he wanted and couldn’t have –

Frustrations he intended to take out on a willing elf.

Aaravos slipped gracefully from the desktop, opening a drawer and offering Viren a palm-sized glass jar. Then he turned around, draping himself over the desk, shimmery fabric moving over the tempting curves of his ass.

Viren tore his eyes from that offering and opened the jar – a lubricant, he realized, dabbing a finger in it.

_At least he comes prepared._

But Viren didn’t need it just yet, placing it on the desk, ignoring the questioning glance Aaravos gave him. He unfastened the robe and let it fall; Aaravos’ body was _unfair,_ a dream of night galaxies and perfect curves. Viren’s hands traced his spine, the bend of his waist, mesmerized by how the lamplight made the stars on his skin dance. Aaravos watched with a craned neck, delighted by this small act of worship.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Viren said shortly.

“Why not?” came the petulant answer. “Don’t I please _you?”_

He wriggled his hips, the perfect arc of his ass grinding against Viren’s still-clothed groin.

He suppressed the moan that threatened to rise in his throat, anchoring himself by seizing Aaravos’ ass with both hands, digging his fingers into the pliant flesh, the elf’s eyes closing in pleasure at his aggression. Perfection, just like the rest of him, but enough of a bastard that he knew it.

But Viren wasn’t done eliciting needy noises from the elf, and so he knelt anew, hands parting dark flesh.

Aaravos’ sharp gasp echoed in Viren’s ears at the first touch of Viren’s tongue, gold eyes widening. Just as quickly he recovered, giving Viren an appreciative glance.

“How…unexpected,” he breathed, eyes closing when Viren’s mouth returned to work, tongue exploring, easing Aaravos open. “Ah - _ah – ”_

_Finally,_ a crack in that smug armor, Aaravos’ face almost serene with pleasure, hands gripping the font of the desk, his breath heavy and quick. Viren’s tongue penetrated him and Aaravos’ head drooped, legs twitching.

“I suppose you like this side of me as well,” Viren said, dabbing a finger into the lubricant.

“I _adore_ it,” came the breathless reply.

Viren chuckled, satisfied with the earnest tone, and without warning, slipped a finger inside.

Aaravos’ moan was little more than a desperate breath, Viren pleased by the twitch of his spine. But even Viren’s patience faltered with this power play, his groin _aching_ from the touch of flawless skin, the moans and gasps his hands and mouth pulled from Aaravos, the smell of sex radiating from the elf. Another finger inside and the grasp of the elf’s cock and Aaravos’ spine arched, his breath choked off.

“Ah, _Viren…”_

His name in that tone made Viren pause, swallowing over the electricity in his blood.

There were moments for power plays, and then there was the growing desperation in Viren’s groin that demanded immediate attention. A final prod with Viren’s fingers (Aaravos nearly _purring_ at that, a long sigh that surpassed the realm of _filth)_ and he carefully withdrew, finally stripping the trousers from his waist.

He remembered, too late, that that morning he had opted to put on a pair of boxers with mathematical equations.

“Mmm.” Aaravos hummed in approval, watching from over his shoulder. “Curious undergarments.”

Viren rolled his eyes. “My children give me novelty underwear every year for Christmas.”

Aaravos snickered. “They suit you, _Professor.”_

The shiver came without warning, the title pronounced with too much emphasis, the low tone going straight to Viren’s groin.

“Ah,” Aaravos said. “You were telling the truth.”

“Truth?” Viren said, fingers at the waistband of his boxers.

“I’m the first to call you that in bed.”

Viren gave a petulant snort. “My research isn’t a fetish.”

“Then _discipline_ me, Professor.”

Viren grit his teeth; all he _wanted_ to do was discipline the elf, silence the audacious toying.

And yet the dilated gold eyes told him Aaravos would enjoy it entirely too much.

But there was no stopping things now, not when Viren could scarcely think beyond the throbbing need of his cock, with Aaravos’ perfect ass on display. He stripped the boxers and ignored Aaravos’ noise of admiration, reaching for the jar of lubricant.

Aaravos gave a little sigh, swaying his hips, Viren trying very hard to disregard that temptation as he slicked the gel over himself. 

“I assume you can handle this?” Viren asked, courtesy as he positioned himself behind Aaravos, closing his eyes briefly at the unfair touch of the tip of his cock against Aaravos’ rear.

“I can take anything you give me,” Aaravos murmured.

Viren shook his head even as he gripped Aaravos’ hip. “You say things like that,” he muttered, “as if you aren’t goading me every other moment.”

“Goading?” Aaravos said, raising an eyebrow (his eyes drifting to Viren’s cock, a devious bite of his lower lip in anticipation). “Perhaps. But you’re not holding back now, are you?”

_So that’s his game._

And a successful one too, if Viren was honest. There was no self-consciousness, no awkwardness between them, nothing but a red lust and the burning off of every frustration in Viren’s personal life.

“I want to see _every_ side of you,” Aaravos whispered, and reached behind him to spread his cheeks.

Impossible to hold back from that act of wonton supplication; Viren thrust in too quickly, the heat inside enough to make him gasp, stabilizing himself against Aaravos’ back, shivering at the pleasure. The elf gave a long, content sigh, his smirk reduced to a small smile, weakened by lust. Viren gathered himself enough to pull out and thrust back in, relishing the sound of skin against skin, watching through fogged eyes as Aaravos’ smile faltered, eyebrow furrowing, lips parted by soft panting. The pleasure of Aaravos’ reactions was almost as intoxicating as his heat and tightness, Viren moving inside him steadily now, hands clenched around the elf’s waist. A sharp push of Viren’s hips and they both moaned quietly, Aaravos’ head dropping again, blue knuckles almost white as he clutched at the desktop.

Aaravos lifted his hips and ground against Viren’s groin, his pace weakening, erratic as that fevered pleasure roared through him. The elf hummed in satisfaction at this reaction, undulating his hips more deeply, Viren left to grip at Aaravos’ hips and ass, legs beginning to shake at the nearness of his climax.

“Aaravos – ”

A plea, a surrender, Viren too overwhelmed to say more than his name.

Aaravos paused, heavy eyes studying Viren. “May I…?” 

He motioned at the desk and Viren nodded without knowing what he was asking. A gentle nudge and Aaravos freed himself, slipping from the desk and turning around. The tip of his cock was paler, as if the blood there could cast off the coldness of a galaxy (Viren suddenly, hungrily wondering how that might feel inside him). He let Aaravos take his hand and lead him to the pile of cushions the elf called a bed. 

He draped himself onto a stack of pillows, legs spread shamelessly, arms reaching for Viren to follow.

“I want to see you,” he purred.

The tone of the act had shifted, Viren relinquishing the power he has assumed when they started, falling into Aaravos’ arms willingly, their mouths connecting at once with hard, desperate kisses. Viren shuddered when he felt the elf’s hand around his cock, guiding him back inside.

Viren’s hips moved automatically now, triggered into action by Aaravos’ heat, by the way the elf’s hips moved in time. Aaravos kept one hand on Viren’s face, constantly directing Viren into another kiss, while the other trailed Viren’s spine, fingertips digging into the soft skin of his ass. This was an intimacy almost unknown, the breathing in of Aaravos’ increasingly needy moans, both stumbling in pace when Viren thrust in too hard, or when Aaravos lifted his hips to drag his cock against Viren’s stomach.

But the pressure was growing rapidly, Viren aware through the haze of lust and skin that he wouldn’t last as long as he had hoped (Aaravos too perfect and too wanting to stave off desperate release). He steeled himself on his knees and Aaravos whined softly, unable to grind himself against Viren. But he had no intention of leaving Aaravos lacking; if anything, pride still demanded that the elf come first, rendered into submissive lust before Viren, and so he reached down and took Aaravos’ cock in hand, satisfied by the gasp that followed.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how he could make Aaravos come faster, but Viren’s ego shot the question down, offering the elf an unexpectedly violent thrust that broke the contact of their lips, Aaravos grasping now at Viren’s shoulders.

Hard and deliberate seemed to be the elf’s weakness, and so Viren timed his pace accordingly, leaning back on his thighs to take Aaravos with both hands, palms moving along his cock, a thumb playing over the tip (leaking now, as Aaravos gripped at pillows, watching Viren with intent, heavy eyes).

“Come for me, elf,” Viren muttered, teeth grit as he struggled to push off his own pleasure for just a _moment_ longer, wanting to see that final stage of pleasure on Aaravos’ beautiful, smug face –

Aaravos’ legs wrapped around him, sudden and hard, Viren feeling the convulsion under his hands, the heat of release spouting forth. A victory, Viren thought, at the way Aaravos’ eyes scrunched shut, how his lips parted with a silent moan, back arching gracefully from the bed.

_Beautiful._

But a short victory. Aaravos tightened around Viren and he swore aloud, vision fogging over with the intensity of it, hands releasing Aaravos’ cock to grab at his waist. A nudge of Aaravos’ hips and Viren was undone, faltering over Aaravos with the last of his thrusts, electricity shooting through his blood, into limbs, fingers and toes, until he shook from it. Aaravos sat up enough to pull Viren down, mouth swallowing the moans of his orgasm, until Viren couldn’t breathe, collapsing weak and panting against him.

A soft moment without speaking, the room filled with only their breathing, Viren listening to the rapid beat of Aaravos’ heart beginning to slow, fingers and limbs tingling warmly.

Aaravos recovered first, quickly (of course he did, the bastard), one hand playing gently in Viren’s hair, the other tracing soft lines along his spine. 

“A flawless performance,” he hummed. “I look forward to an encore.”

Viren scoffed against Aaravos’ chest. “I hope you don’t mean right away. I told you I’m not as young as I was.”

The elf shook with gentle laughter. “Then we will allow you to recover. I want you just as passionate next time. Perhaps...when I am afforded the same authority to _your_ body...”

Viren resisted the urge to roll his eyes or blush at the thought of that; _passionate_ was a word people used to describe Viren with his work, his research – not desperate lovemaking.

“Soren wanted to ask if we would attend a baseball game tomorrow,” Viren said, choosing to ignore the uncomfortable compliment.

Aaravos blinked, his face going blank. “Me? A part of your family? How _delicious.”_

He could make anything innocent into an innuendo with that honeyed tone, Viren shifting uneasily. “Yes, well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Aren’t you? Part of the family, that is.”

Aaravos turned an unblinking stare to him, head cocked. “Am I?”

“You’re asking that with my cock in your ass,” Viren muttered unthinkingly.

Aaravos laughed, throwing his head back. “Delightful! Foul words from your mouth do _such_ things to me, Viren.”

Viren opened his mouth to protest, or take back the tawdry comment, but Aaravos seized his face with both hands and pressed a long kiss to his lips, the objection fading in the affection. Viren was certain he could kiss Aaravos for hours, lips roving over his, gentle and persistent simultaneously, like nothing else in the world mattered except for the two of them, and the unmistakable connection between them.

_Perhaps,_ Viren mused, as Aaravos slipped that clever tongue into his mouth, _nothing else does._


	11. Tied Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These days the lovers trade their places  
> Dancing all around each other's chairs  
> I can see the numbness on their faces  
> Jealousy fills up their hearts in pairs  
> So please could I be selfish with your body?  
> 'Cause I don't think I could share you with nobody
> 
> Oh, when I have you  
> I'm gonna brand you with my lips  
> And all of the world will know that you're mine now  
> We'll never lose faith  
> 'Cause we'll never forget this taste  
> My love has the power to keep the tide down
> 
> Oh, I'll get you tied down, tied down
> 
> "Tied Down," Jaymes Young

Viren opened one eye cautiously, squinting at the sunlight streaming into his bedroom. A soft sigh left his lips, body heavy and satisfied. The darker realization came a moment later, both eyes opening to the front of the room, hesitant to roll over and see the empty space Harrow had occupied.

_No, not Harrow –_

The timeline of his life confused him for a moment, uncertain what to expect when he looked over, but then the memories flooded back – Aaravos and his starry skin, Aaravos with the gold eyes that had studied every inch of him, Aaravos with the sweet moans and the body that felt like a warm galaxy, open only to Viren –

He sat up with a sharp inhale. They had begun the evening in Aaravos’ room, but after their first bout of passion, a crude dinner of wine and cheese, and then –

Aaravos lay on his stomach, horns gracefully sloping upward, glittering in the morning sun, eyes closed as he sparkled, back bare save for the distinct marks of fingernails.

The blush rose up gently, Viren swallowing the memories of putting them there.

“Good morning,” came the unexpected purr, the elf’s eyes still closed.

Viren let out a gasp, mentally berating himself for it.

Aaravos opened his eyes now, gold stare leveled toward him. “You seem surprised to see me.”

“No,” Viren said quickly. “Well – yes. It’s complicated. I’m not accustomed to… ”

“Ah,” Aaravos said, nodding at the unfinished thought. “Dear Harrow did not stay the night after mating?”

“Please stop calling it that,” Viren grumbled, rubbing his eyes with a finger and thumb. “But no, he…discouraged that kind of intimacy.”

Aaravos hummed. “What a pity for him,” he said, reaching out to cup Viren’s chin with a palm, a thumb smoothing Viren’s beard. “You’re beautiful in the morning sun.”

The blush roared into Viren’s face now, hot under the cool touch of the elf’s hand.

“I – you – I’m not – ”

“Shh,” Aaravos chided softly, undeterred by Viren’s stammering. He placed his second hand on Viren’s face and pulled him down, until their lips met.

_This isn’t like Harrow at all._

The contrast between the two was soothing, as if Viren associated everything he had done with Harrow as a great failure, and anything opposite that – long, passionate nights together, soft and sleepy morning kisses, compliments that Viren had never dreamed of hearing – 

_I think I’m doing it right this time._

He pressed his mouth back against Aaravos, the affection not as startling as it had been before last night. No, now the generous touches, the demands for attention – Viren began waiting for them, falling into each one without the net he had spent his life weaving.

Aaravos released him gently, a small smile on his lips. “I enjoy waking next to you,” he said, a hand moving to Viren’s wrist, fingers trailing the veins there.

Viren shivered at the touch. “Yes, I – it’s nice for me as well.”

The smile deepened. “Your skin,” the elf said, voice curious. “What do you call this?”

“…goosebumps,” Viren murmured, his entire attention on the blue flesh against his.

“Hmmmm,” Aaravos said, drawing the sound out.

Viren’s skin reacted instantly.

“What does it mean?”

“It means…I’m cold,” Viren managed, as Aaravos’ fingers continued to explore Viren’s forearm. “Or – ”

“Or…?”

Viren heard himself swallow. He tore his eyes away from the hand creeping up his to find the sideways smirk on dark lips.

 _Bastard._ He knew perfectly well what he was doing, forcing Viren to admit the obvious for simple amusement.

“We should get up before we’re late,” Viren said, changing the subject before that smirk could swallow him. “Claudia has developed a problematic habit of walking into rooms at the worst moment.”

_Did I lock the door last night?_

Viren thought about it, recalling only the stumble inside, Aaravos’ lips on his, dark hands on his body, the clumsy shut of the door as they – 

Aaravos chuckled, low like a rumble of thunder, and the goosebumps returned. “Very well. May I ask when our _next_ date will be?”

“Tomorrow night,” Viren said, before the nerve left him. “If you don’t mind a family affair, Soren has a baseball game. I know you’ve expressed interest.” He reached from the side of the bed to grasp for the bathrobe that had fallen to the floor, nearly falling out when Aaravos slipped a cool hand below Viren’s waist, cupping his ass with an appreciative squeeze.

“Will you stop that!” he hissed, hurriedly putting on the robe. 

Aaravos laughed, falling back against the pillow. “Pity we don’t have more time this morning. I would have liked my turn exploring every _inch_ of you, as thoroughly as you did to me last night. That is, if you don’t mind taking turns…”

Viren’s mouth opened, but the words within vanished at a scene too easy to visualize, Aaravos tall over him, between his legs –

“Ah, well,” he said, with a cough. “You’ll…have that chance tomorrow night. It’s Friday, so we can…” He forced some confidence into his voice, the tone turning haughty to conceal everything else. “We can take our time.”

“Hmm,” Aaravos hummed, rising gracefully from the sheets. He was a vision of blue and violet in the sunlight, every inch of him perfection, a living star brought down to earth. “You spoil me,” he said, circling the bed to offer Viren a soft kiss. “Very well, I look forward to your son’s sporting event. You can teach me about the game, and afterward, I…”

Viren hadn’t felt the deft hands untying his robe, surprised by the cool air on his skin again.

“I can teach you all _manner_ of things,” Aaravos purred, slipping Viren’s robe over dark shoulders, tying it around his waist.

 _He looks good in it,_ Viren thought, before shaking the vision from his head. “Aaravos – ”

“Have a shower,” Aaravos murmured, with another kiss, this time on Viren’s forehead. “And I will see you downstairs.”

“Er – very well,” Viren said, too stunned by the demand, the beautiful creature wearing his bathrobe and promising _all manner_ of –

He let out a long breath, Aaravos smirking as he slipped from Viren’s bedroom.

“Ah, good morning, Claudia!” His cheerful voice rang out from the hallway, and the reality of everything sank in, and Viren gave a quiet groan, stalking off to drown himself in the shower.

But even with the thought of Claudia understanding what had passed between Viren and the elf wasn’t enough to keep Viren in a bad mood. Aaravos still wasn’t down when Viren came downstairs to pour a cup of coffee, humming to himself as he did.

“Running a little late today, Dad?” Claudia asked, passing him the milk.

“A bit,” Viren said, with a shrug. “But I don’t teach until ten, so it hardly matters.” And as he poured the milk, he missed the astonished look on his daughter’s face at this careless attitude toward work, and the cheerful humming that continued as he stirred.

The day passed in much the same mood, Viren humming to himself as he and Claudia compiled materials for the term’s final exams, missing the small, pleased smiles Claudia shot his direction. When she laughingly passed on a student suggestion for an extra credit assignment, she fell into a stunned silence when Viren agreed it was a good idea, and put her to work on it.

“You’ve never offered extra credit before,” she remarked slowly, as if disbelieving herself.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Viren said, and couldn’t understand why she stared at him. 

He recalled tomorrow’s plans as they packed up the for evening. “I’m planning on the family attending Soren’s baseball game tomorrow night,” Viren said. “Aaravos is curious about human sports, and I promised Soren I would attend at least a few this season. Given that I have no idea how long the season is, it’s best I don’t put it off.”

Claudia made a face. “Can I bring a book?”

“Bring two,” Viren said, snapping his briefcase closed. “The games run about three hours long.”

She groaned but didn’t object, instead falling into Viren’s pace as they left the office. “So…Aaravos is getting used to living in a human country?”

“Very well,” Viren said. “Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t know more than he lets on, if only to listen to me explain everything.”

Claudia laughed. “Maybe he does,” she said. “It’s kinda cute he’d rather listen to you.”

Viren stuttered at this, wholly unable to find a proper response or rebuke.

“In any case,” she said, ignoring his indignation, “the two of you have both been alone for a while, right? So it’s nice you found each other.”

Viren hesitated to confirm whether the stifling loneliness of his adult years was something to be considered a blessing, no matter how many beautiful, glittery elves it brought into his life. But reason caught up to his wounded pride, remembering how Aaravos had described his imprisonment.

_How long had he been alone?_

His quick attachment to Viren aside, Aaravos didn’t seem the type to suffer fools or take lovers without some thought. How many times had he told Viren so, praising the mage for his mind, his body, his spirit?

“Maybe it is nice,” Viren muttered, annoyed that the thought made his heart skip.

Claudia only smiled, eyes crinkling. “I’m happy for you, Dad. For both of you. I think Aaravos has been alone for a long time. It’s nice that you’re taking him to the game tomorrow.” The smile faded a little. “Even if I have to go too.”

Viren chuckled. “I’ll buy you whatever you want from the concession stand.”

“The biggest plate of nachos they have,” Claudia said, brightening. “You can show Aaravos how to eat them.”

Viren laughed aloud and Claudia gave him that look of surprise almost constantly on her face that day.

Aaravos seemed to be in a pleased mood as well, quietly radiating some manner of smugness in the car, his dinner conversation tinged with a knowing tone that Viren didn’t particularly appreciate but couldn’t prove indicated something nefarious. He lavished praise on the chef (Soren surprising them all with a homemade lasagna), shared too many smiles with Claudia, and otherwise settled into a role perfectly befitting a long-absent family member.

Viren watched with narrowed eyes over his wineglass, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Your father tells me we’re going to a _baseball_ game tomorrow evening,” Aaravos drawled.

“Yeah?” Soren said, a grin appearing on his face. “For real?”

“Aaravos expressed interest,” Viren said stiffly, unable to take credit for the suggestion. “And I…promised.”

“Sure, but it’s not like I was gonna hold you to it,” Soren said with a shrug that made Viren wonder when his children had lost the last bit of hope for him as a father. “But hey, I’m starting third base tomorrow, batting clean-up, so it’ll be something to see. Gonna get up early tomorrow to get an extra run in.”

“I had every intention of honoring my promise,” Viren muttered, trying to recall what _batting clean-up_ meant and stabbing at his dinner with a shrill objection of the fork.

“I’m not saying you didn’t, Dad,” Soren said quickly. “Not exactly. Just didn’t think you’d be so open about, you know. Bangin’ the new professor.”

The fork screeched again, louder, Viren looking at his son, aghast.

Next to him, Aaravos laughed aloud, his spine bending gracefully with mirth.

“That – that has nothing to do with – ”

 _“Are_ you, Viren?” Aaravos interjected, lips curling against his glass. “Do you intend to show me off?”

“Stop it,” Viren said crossly, trying to will his blush down. “And you – ” He leveled his fork at Soren. “Stop encouraging him.”

“Come on, Soren,” Claudia said, coming to Viren’s defense. “It’s just a baseball game.”

“Sure, sure, my bad,” Soren said, with the tone of voice that suggested he didn’t buy this explanation at all.

Aaravos hummed into his wine, too pleased to be good for anyone but himself.

Viren narrowed his eyes.

“I think we can behave perfectly well at your game and prevent embarrassing you, Soren,” Viren lectured, sipping his wine as he reached with his other hand below the table, offering Aaravos’ thigh a sharp squeeze, fingers grazing too high to be anything but suggestive.

The elf’s breath caught almost silently, pupils dilating a fraction too wide. He recovered quickly, dragging his fork along his teeth, lips turned into a pout as he chewed.

“No offense, Dad,” Soren said, blissfully unaware of this interaction, “but when your old man is a professor at the university, you get pretty used to the embarrassment.”

This statement distracted Viren enough to release Aaravos’ leg. “How is having a parent as a professor embarrassing – ah – !” 

The foot that nudged him between the legs brought the wine up and over the rim, dripping down his hand and wrist. He shot Aaravos a look of vitriol, but the elf sipped his own wine as if he hadn’t noticed it.

Claudia stood to offer her napkin and Viren gave a long sigh, counting the growing number of his good shirts stained with spilled wine, coffee, and –

Some things the dry cleaner didn’t need to know.

“Claudia, can you help your brother with the dishes?” he muttered, wringing out his cuff. “I need to rinse this before it sets. And I need to talk to _you.”_

Aaravos feigned surprised at the point of Viren’s finger, but he swept up from his seat, tossing long white hair with a careless manner that Viren was annoyed to find attractive.

_I didn’t think to pull his hair when we -_

But never mind those thoughts now; Viren pushed his chair back, refocusing on the task of saving his shirt.

“When did you learn to cook, anyway?” Claudia asked, picking up plates as Viren and Aaravos exited.

“The second I found out what you and Dad put in pancakes,” Soren’s voice trailed, loud enough for Viren to hear.

Viren rolled his eyes as he stalked upstairs to his bedroom, hanging up his jacket and running his cuff under cold water. Aaravos appeared in the mirror behind him, jacket gone and sleeves rolled up dark forearms; he leaned against the bathroom doorframe, folding his arms with a pleased smile.

“You wished to speak with me, _Professor?”_ he asked.

“I meant what I told Soren,” Viren said, ignoring the outbreak of goosebumps on his skin – no doubt from the cold water of the faucet. “We _will_ behave at his game.”

“Behave as _what?”_ Aaravos said, his voice lowering, pushing himself lithely from the doorframe. “Colleagues? Friends?” He reached to turn the water warmer, his breath in Viren’s ear.

“Lovers?” he whispered, and Viren shuddered.

“Colleagues,” Viren said, pulling his hand from the sink and turning about to look Aaravos in the eye. “Friends, if you insist. But nothing more than that.”

“How cruel.”

“You’ll survive,” Viren said dryly, unbuttoning his shirt.

“I meant,” Aaravos said, the words heavily enunciated, “for you.”

Viren scoffed, the eyeroll inevitable. “I promised us time alone afterward. I see no reason why a three-hour baseball game should drive me to some irrational brink. Gods forbid I’m not given the chance to grope you as much as you do to me.”

“You may not succumb to the opportunities,” Aaravos said, lips twitching, “but you wish to.”

“Didn’t I at dinner?”

“Ah, you did!” Aaravos said, his smile _almost_ contagious. “I was astonished! But pleased!” His eyes moved over Viren’s increasingly exposed skin with obvious appreciation. “Very pleased.”

“I’ve told you how this works,” Viren said, turning to his closet to avoid that avid gold stare. “We keep things professional to the world, and here, privately – I am yours.”

Aaravos’ eyes almost glowed. “Such lovely words,” he murmured. “But you neglect to recall – I never _agreed_ to your terms.”

Viren didn’t have the chance to react to this statement, Aaravos’ hands on his waist, turning him to face the elf, wrists clasped tightly a moment later, their faces a breath apart. Viren’s lungs seized, blinking at the nearness of him, the impossible tension their proximity created. 

“What is the benefit for me to agree to your terms?” Aaravos asked, the question hot on Viren’s lips. “Why should I be content to claim you only behind closed doors?”

Viren’s mouth moved without words, his mind instantly blank beyond the boundaries of Aaravos’ lips, dark and warm and soft and unkissed. 

“I – I’m not the sort of man who – ”

“Who lets the world in?” Aaravos finished. “Yes, I know. But consider – I am not one to let my property go unclaimed.”

Heat rose in Viren’s cheeks but he held the eye contact, refusing to be the first to cave. “Claudia was right,” he said, the realization hitting him at length. “You’re afraid.”

Aaravos’ intense expression softened, lips parting.

“You’ve been alone for so long that you’re too eager to proclaim possession,” Viren said, encouraged by the change on the elf’s face. “You can’t _resist_ announcing that we’re together.” He lifted a hand and cupped Aaravos’ face, watching the subtle flash of too many emotions, soothed by the soft way the elf’s eyes closed against his palm. “You’re starving for it.”

“If I am,” Aaravos murmured, “you are with me in that.” He broke from Viren’s hand to push their lips together, Viren attempting a protest too quickly swallowed, clinching his eyes shut and pressing back with an irritatingly strong neediness. A warm hand settled on his chest, fingers tracing the curves of muscle, pushing him backward until his rear pressed against the bathroom counter.

“I – ” Viren broke the kiss, shivering at how quickly Aaravos’ lips moved to his throat. “If I am?”

The elf paused, lips withdrawing slowly, gold eyes narrowed as he pulled back.

“You agree?” he said, voice dubious.

Viren cleared his throat. “I – yes. I agree. It’s why last night, I…”

“Was so eager to claim me for yourself?” Aaravos offered, expression settling into something wistful.

Viren looked away, pressing his lips together. “Something like that,” he muttered.

He could feel the weight of Aaravos’ eyes on him and, with a great effort, met his gaze again.

“You once said you knew how I felt about you because of our…physical connection,” Viren said, attempting not to flinch at the words. “I hope you meant that, because I fully intend on trying to please you.”

Poor wording, considering their closeness, the blush rising.

But it seemed to placate the elf, and he released Viren, giving them a breath of space between.

“I’m taking you to Soren’s game,” Viren said, feeling as though he needed to continue explaining himself, “because you wanted to be part of the family. So be a part of it. Come with us. And afterward…” 

A long, steeled breath, cheeks too hot, eyes dropping –

“…you can do whatever you want to me, for as long as you want.”

Aaravos’ face went blank, and for a long, awful moment, Viren worried he had somehow said precisely the wrong thing.

But then came the slow curl of Aaravos’ lips, the softening of his eyes.

“You continuously astonish me,” he purred. “And what _temptation_ you present in this paradoxical manner.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Aaravos breathed, a hand trailing Viren’s jawline, “that when you say things like that, all I want to do is – ” He broke off the word with a pensive hum, leaving the blanks for Viren to fill in.

He did so, instantly and strongly, breath catching.

“But,” Aaravos said, his tone turning reasonable, hand dropping back to his side, “you mentioned grading to do tonight, and I have a curriculum to finish writing for my course. Best to leave things for tomorrow, when we have all the time in the world.”

Viren ran his hands over his face, sighing with enough force to deflate him against the counter.

“That is what you want, is it not?”

“Yes,” Viren grumbled. “No – you know perfectly well.”

“I do – but you’re right for us to wait. I want to take my _time.”_

Viren groaned aloud, trying to shut out the visuals those words in that voice brought forth.

Aaravos laughed softly. “Now, I’ll leave you to your work, and the anticipation of tomorrow.” He turned to go, but Viren caught his arm. The elf gave him a raised eyebrow.

“I…I’ll wish you goodnight, then,” Viren said, and before the nerve could leave him, he lifted his head, pressing an almost chaste kiss to the elf’s mouth.

Aaravos returned the kiss, lightly, innocently – if the elf was capable of being innocent about anything. His expression was warm when Viren pulled away, his smile gentle.

“Goodnight, Viren. I will dream sweet dreams of you to preserve me until sweeter wakefulness brings me back to you.”

Viren stared as Aaravos sauntered out, those poetic words echoing in his head.

“Who speaks like that?” he murmured to himself. He ran a hand through his hair so roughly he winced at the pull of it, and then stomped to the shower, turning it on with too much violence, and spent the next fifteen minutes shivering in the cold water, ruminating on how much he loathed poetry.

*

Predictably, Viren didn’t sleep well.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the sun not yet casting the first rays through the high window. He recalled doing this, months ago, when in the climax of his heartbreak over Harrow, but this was a fresh sort of frustration – too much heat in his blood instead of the coldness Harrow left behind, his current lover too present instead of too absent.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, thinking that all relationships should come with instruction manuals, textbooks – anything to navigate whether he was saying the right things, waiting for the right times, choosing the right person. He needed to know if the fear of a new lover would come to the same result as every other experiment in romance.

But he shook his head, physically dismissing the idea. _Everything_ about Aaravos was different. Everything about him suggested that this wouldn’t leave the same marks.

Unless Aaravos did that sort of thing in bed.

Viren groaned aloud at the intrusive thought, falling back against his pillows with a soft _whump._

How many hours until the game? Until after?

He inhaled deeply, swinging his legs free from the sheets and reaching for his bathrobe. He needed a distraction, something to burn off the energy until –

Soren was in the kitchen, lights on, drinking directly from the milk carton. He noticed Viren with sheepish smile and wiped his mouth on his sweatshirt sleeve.

“Sorry,” he said. “You’re up earlier than usual.”

Viren ignored the violation of his milk. “You’re going running, aren’t you?”

Soren blinked. “Uh – yeah. Yeah, in a few. Just wanted something to keep me going.”

“I’m going with you,” Viren said.

Now Soren stared, eyes narrowing in thought, as if Viren had suddenly started speaking another language.

“When you say that,” he said slowly, “you mean…”

“With you,” Viren said impatiently. “To run.”

“Yeeeah,” Soren said, dragging out the word. “I mean, sure, I guess. But – uh – ” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Do you even own sweatpants?”

“Oh.” Not likely, given that Viren was a stereotype of academia, suits and ties and cardigans and stiff collars. “Well…”

“Guess you could borrow some of mine,” Soren said. “You’re _sure_ you want – ”

“Soren, my mind is quite made up,” Viren chided. “Do you want to waste time, or let me join you?”

“All righty,” Soren said, shrugging. “So what’s with the sudden motivation? Tryin’ to keep up with your younger boyfriend, eh?”

Viren rolled his eyes but followed as Soren led the way to his bedroom. “Hardly. He’s older than me. Much older, actually.”

“Huh.” Soren handed Viren a pair of sweatpants and a Katolis University sweatshirt, his face pensive. “That’s kinda weird to think about. He doesn’t look as old as – ”

He caught the look on Viren’s face and cut himself off.

“As…?” Viren prompted dryly.

“I’ll be downstairs,” he said hastily, and escaped before Viren could think of a lecture.

An hour staring at the ceiling, as perplexed by romance as a teenager, and yet Soren could make him feel his age in half a sentence.

Soren’s clothes fit well enough, even if the material was something Viren hadn’t worn since his own college days. He found an old pair of running shoes ( _when had he last worn these?_ ) and finally made his way back down, rolling his shoulders in the unfamiliar fabric.

He found Harrow in the kitchen.

Viren froze in the doorway, blinking the dream from his eyes, but Harrow remained. Like Soren, he was dressed for a run, and like Viren, his face echoed surprise.

“Sooo,” Soren said into the tense silence, hands outstretched as though trying to brace himself. “Here’s the thing – ”

“Why are you here?” Viren asked. He flinched at his own rudeness, his tone sharp out of self-defense. “I mean – ”

“Viren, I don’t mean to intrude,” Harrow began.

“You go running with my son?” Viren asked. “How often?”

“A few times a week, yes, but – ”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Viren asked Soren.

Soren opened his mouth, but not before Harrow let out a chuckle.

“Wait, are you planning on joining us?” he asked.

“I don’t see that it’s _that_ surprising,” Viren said testily. “And I didn’t know you would be – ”

“I really hate to break up the reunion, Dad,” Soren cut in, almost diplomatically. “But I’ve got a morning class, so I need to get going. Uncle Harrow was kind of a football legend in his day, so he’s been giving me some tips. I…didn’t think you’d mind.”

Viren and Harrow fell silent, giving each other wary glances.

_Do I mind?_

Impossible to say at six in the morning. But spite bloomed within him in the absence of coffee and common sense, and Viren gave an unconcerned shrug.

“I’m still going,” he said.

“As am I,” Harrow said.

Soren pressed his lips together. “Ooookay,” he said, and led the way to the front door.

“What’s this?”

As one, Viren, Harrow, and Soren turned to find Aaravos on the staircase. 

_Oh no._

He met Viren’s eyes and Viren felt the guilt that washed over him, despite having – technically – done nothing wrong. But Harrow’s presence, in Viren’s home, in the darkness of the morning before dawn –

The truth of the moment felt too simple to be believed.

“Er – we’re…helping Soren with his training,” Viren said.

Soren gave him an incredulous look, which certainly didn’t help with sounding credible.

“Maybe I should go,” Harrow offered, diplomatic as always.

“No, Uncle Harrow – ” Soren shot Viren a look. “Dad, come on – ”

“Training?” Aaravos said, gold gaze flickering, unimpressed, toward Harrow. “I’ll come with you.”

Soren gave a long, exasperated sigh. “Why doesn’t the whole _neighborhood_ come with us!”

But Aaravos either didn’t hear the sarcasm or didn’t care, sweeping upstairs.

“Does he run?” Harrow asked Viren quietly.

“I – I have no idea.”

Harrow hummed and they fell back into tense silence, Viren agonizing over what to say, or what not to say, startled back into the moment when Soren announced he was going outside to stretch.

“I should apologize to him,” Harrow said. “I’m sure the last thing he wanted on a game day is a parade of old men on his heel.”

“No, it’s – it’s not your fault,” Viren said. “I should thank you. For helping him.”

“I almost didn’t,” Harrow said quietly, pushing his hands into pockets. “I thought – after our fight – that maybe I should mind my own business. I didn’t want to push boundaries.”

“No, I’m…glad,” Viren said, the word sounding false on his tongue. “I…the kids have always loved you, Harrow. I don’t want our issues to harm that.”

“Thank you.” Harrow offered half a smile but fully genuine. “By the way, Callum went to the movies with Claudia the other night. She said it was your idea, but…”

“Ah.” Viren cleared his throat. “Yes, I – I didn’t want to discourage her from…”

“Right.”

Viren fell quiet again, unable to admit the real reason he had goaded Claudia into leaving so that he and Aaravos –

The prodigal elf returned then, dressed down in sleek leggings and tank top, managing, somehow, to look glamorous even in workout clothes. He met Viren’s stare with a hint of a smile, pulling his long white hair into a ponytail (Viren unable to keep from admiring the curve of his bare neck, coughing when Harrow noticed the stare).

“Isn’t this fun,” Aaravos said, impervious to the dubious expressions that looked back at him. “Shall we?” He sauntered past them and Harrow gave Viren a glance that almost looked as if he was holding back a laugh.

“Bit dramatic, isn’t he?” he whispered as they walked out.

“You have no idea,” Viren murmured, and for just a moment, the tension between them faded, leaving only nostalgic warmth.

“Look, we’re running behind, so I’ll have to push my speed,” Soren said, when they gathered at the end of the driveway. Dawn was just beginning to bloom, pale pink and orange at the end of the street, the air still crisp and cold from night.

“Dad, don’t worry about keeping up. Better to hold a consistent speed, or do some intervals.”

“Why are you singling me out?” Viren asked, annoyed.

“Dad. Come on.”

“Harrow is the same age as me,” Viren pointed out.

“Come now, old man,” Harrow teased. “I know you probably haven’t run a mile since college. And Aaravos – ”

“Viren is quite aware of my athleticism,” Aaravos said loftily.

_Bastard._

A pause, Harrow surprised and then not –

Viren sighed loudly. “Fine. Do what you need to, Soren. I’ll manage.”

“Perhaps I could be of some assistance to Soren’s training,” Aaravos offered.

“I’m not sure if working with…non-humans is best for him,” Harrow said slowly. “Knowing the limitations between elves and humans…”

“Ah, I see,” Aaravos said, all feigned courtesy. “Yes, I’m sure you are rather lacking in what an elf may have to offer.”

Viren resisted a groan, closing his eyes briefly to avoid whatever expression Harrow had on now, with the innuendos coming too quickly to stomach. 

“Go,” he said, pushing Soren toward the street. “Just go.”

“Good luck, Dad,” he said, biting back an obvious smile, utterly unsympathetic to Viren’s plight.

_I’m going to need it._

“Come on, old man,” Harrow said, with a grin. “The block is about a quarter mile around, so we’ll stick to laps. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“I’m already tired,” Viren grumbled, but he followed Harrow’s lead, pushing off on a heel.

It took less than a lap before Viren regretted his decision to go running; Soren had sped ahead without so much as a wave behind him, Harrow clearly hesitating to follow, instead remaining behind with Viren. Aaravos kept pace effortlessly, gazelle-like with long limbs and hair streaming perfectly behind, Viren almost tripping on uneven pavement when he spent a moment too long staring.

Harrow caught his arm, laughing. “How are you holding up?” he asked, unaware of the glare Aaravos shot him.

“I’m fine,” Viren said, his voice too winded to be true. “Harrow, you needn’t slow down for my sake. If you want to run ahead, I understand.”

“Then who will catch you next time?” Harrow teased.

“I will,” Aaravos declared coldly.

Harrow met Viren’s eyes and gave a wink so quick that Viren wasn’t entirely certain he had seen it.

“Oh, well,” Harrow said reasonably, “if that’s your excuse to stay back instead of keeping up with me – ”

“Harrow, don’t,” Viren said, but Aaravos’ face flashed with anger.

“If you really believe yourself capable of competing with an elf,” Aaravos said, his tone lofty.

“Is it a competition, then?” Harrow said.

“I suppose it is a generous word, considering how little effort I will need.”

“Then why don’t you start putting in that effort, and we’ll see – ”

“The handicap is yours, so at your leisure – ”

Viren came to a slow stop at their bickering, watching Harrow take off ahead, closing the distance between them and Soren. Aaravos paused, eyes on his disappearing form.

“What are you doing?” Viren asked wearily.

“Rising to his challenge.”

“Aaravos, he’s teasing you.”

“And he will live to regret it,” Aaravos announced, and then broke into a graceful sprint, white hair whipping past, lithe figure vanishing twice as fast as Harrow had.

Viren stood in the street and caught his breath, testing the strain of his knees and nerves.

 _I’m not cut out for this,_ he thought, but whether he meant running or something else entirely, he couldn’t be sure.

His phone trilled and he checked it unthinkingly, unsurprised by the text from Claudia.

“Where is everyone?”

Viren typed a quick answer back. “We went running with Soren.”

“Very funny, Dad. But seriously, where are you?”

“On my way home. Pour me a cup of coffee, please.”

Claudia was waiting for him on the porch, steaming cup in her hands like an offering, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“You really went running,” she said in awe.

“Some of us ran more than others,” Viren muttered. “I can’t possibly keep up with Aaravos.”

“He went with you?” Claudia said, scanning the empty street. “How did…that go?”

“What do you mean?”

She looked guilty immediately, and the pieces fell into place.

“You knew Soren trained with Harrow?” Viren asked wearily.

“Sorry, Dad,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.”

“I don’t mind,” Viren said, surprised by his own honesty. “He was an excellent athlete. I’m sure he’s a good coach.”

“And Aaravos?”

“They’re competing,” Viren sighed, sitting next to her, and sipped his coffee. “What have I gotten myself into, Claudia?”

She gave him a crooked smile, offering no advice but instead a pat on his leg, a wordless act of comfort for the new mess of things he had created. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if weighing the wisdom of her thoughts.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just – ” She gave him a long look, wrinkling her nose, a sign that whatever she was going to say was of the utmost seriousness.

“Boys never get any smarter, do they?” she said. “Just older.”

The absurdity of it struck him then, warmed to life by the coffee in his hands and the solemn tone of Claudia’s voice, the grave look on her face. He laughed aloud, the coffee sloshing dangerously against the rim of his mug. Claudia’s expression softened and she laughed with him, until they couldn’t breathe from it, Viren wiping at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“No,” he said at last. “No, I don't think we ever do. That's why you have to come to the game tonight - so that at least one person there will have an ounce of sense."

Claudia giggled. "You got it, Dad," she said, and patted his leg again, the two falling into soft silence, watching the sun rise, Viren sure that he had done at least one thing right in his life by having a daughter.


	12. You Belong to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lips burrow so deep, give me good sleep  
> Pour a little sugar on my wound  
> Musical master, play harder and faster  
> Spinning me up in your silky cocoon
> 
> Feels like we're dreaming, we're tripping and reeling  
> Just say that you belong to me (You belong to me)  
> I could get lost in the feelings we're feeling  
> Just say that you belong to me (You belong to me)  
> Do you want more of this? Isn't it glorious?  
> I can't believe that it's free (You belong to me)  
> I will adore you, I'll only live for you  
> Just say that you belong to me
> 
> Crawl into my heart, take me apart  
> Do what you please to me, I won't resist  
> Find what you're seeking, I am not leaving  
> 'Til I am drunk, loved up, bitten, and kissed
> 
> I've heard allegations 'bout your reputation  
> I'll show you my shadows if you show yours  
> Let's get it right dear, give a good fight dear  
> We'll keep it all up behind closed doors
> 
> "You Belong to Me," Cat Pierce

Viren was _almost_ sure that the baseball game had gone well. At least, that’s what he would tell himself until Monday morning; but when they arrived home Friday night, Aaravos leading Viren upstairs by one hand, Viren was content in his ignorance.

Friday had begun ominously enough even without the unexpected visit from Harrow (his return that morning less than graceful, dripping sweat and unable to speak for his labored breathing, Aaravos looking utterly unaffected, as if he had merely modeled his workout clothes). That evening, Claudia, on their way to the university, had decided to look into astrology, Viren wincing when she immediately Googled compatibility charts.

“Let’s see,” she said, squinting in concentration at her phone screen in the darkness of the backseat. “Dad’s an Aries…”

Viren glanced at her in the rearview mirror, resisting an eyeroll only because of the red light ahead.

“Aaravos, when is your birthday?”

“November fourteenth,” he offered politely, giving Viren a sideways glance. “I’m a Scorpio.”

Now Viren did roll his eyes, but Claudia didn’t notice, typing furiously.

“Hmm, a fire sign and a water sign,” she mused. “That’s…probably not great.”

“Why don’t you ask Aaravos if astrology is even valid,” Viren remarked. “Somehow I suspect he would know better than most.” He glanced toward Aaravos’ chest, the great white star hidden under his human clothing, looking away quickly when the elf caught the look.

“Oh, yes,” Aaravos said knowingly, to Viren’s surprise. “But I admit that how humans utilize it is merely a primitive understanding of it. It has far more applications to life and magic than simple romance ratings.”

“Magic?” Viren said, interested immediately despite himself. “How so?”

“Oh, the _things_ one can do with the correct alignment of planets and stars to guide,” Aaravos said. “I could teach you, if you wish…”

“Please,” Viren said, too quickly.

Aaravos smiled, pleased and smug and something else beneath it, as if he was plotting some manner of mischief, like a cat about to push a cup from a countertop.

“But tonight,” he said, “I would like to hear what Claudia thinks of our _compatibility.”_

_Always a bastard._

Punishment, perhaps, for finding Harrow in the house this morning, even after Harrow had offered a handshake and concession of loss, Aaravos accepting with the air of one deigning to touch a mere mortal. But the three men had existed in the same space for more than a few minutes and no one had died, no great fire of tempers boiled over. In fact, Viren wondered if – possibly – the three might become vaguely friendly.

Listening to bad horoscopes might be worth that potential.

“Let’s see,” Claudia said, leaning between the front seats, Viren wincing at the glare of her phone screen. “Both Aries and Scorpio are ruled by Mars, so it says you’re both two sides of the same coin. Both signs lack influence from Venus, so…well, it says you lack tenderness.”

Viren scoffed, wondering if that proved her point exactly, but Aaravos chuckled.

“An unconventional sort of tenderness, perhaps,” he said, a dark hand reaching to squeeze Viren’s leg. “What else does it say?”

“Well,” Claudia made a face in the rearview mirror. “It’s…maybe I should find another site…”

“Allow me,” Aaravos said, plucking the phone from her hands. He hummed, Viren managing a few glances at him as his eyes skimmed the words. “It calls you ‘rigid and conservative,’” he told Viren.

Claudia giggled.

“It seems we score ninety percent in areas of trust,” Aaravos reported. “And – hmm. It’s unkind to how we share emotions.”

“Dad doesn’t like emotions,” Claudia chimed in. “Except the grumpy ones.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Viren grumbled.

“Ah!” Aaravos said. “A full match in… _shared activities,_ Viren.”

“What does that mean?” Claudia asked, as Viren’s face burned.

“Moving on,” Viren snapped.

“It calls me manipulative,” Aaravos said, all gentle incredulity, a hand moving to his throat to feign shock and innocence.

“You?” Viren said sarcastically. “No, not at all.”

Claudia giggled again.

“Thank you, Claudia,” Aaravos said, offering her phone back as Viren pulled into the parking lot. “That was quite illuminating.”

“Maybe you can teach me how to read charts,” she said. “It could be fun!”

“It can be difficult, but if you wish, I am at your service.”

She clapped excitedly, grabbing her bookbag as they came to a stop.

“Really?” Viren said, when she had climbed out and shut the door on them. “You’re going to encourage her to find more reasons to embarrass me?”

“I think I saved you from it,” Aaravos said, giving him a satisfied smile. “The _filth_ written in that article…”

Viren’s breath caught and he fussed with his seatbelt. 

_What kind of filth?_

“You – you said that it wasn’t accurate.”

“It wasn’t _deep_ into what astrology really is, no,” Aaravos said, placing a hand on Viren’s, forcing a moment of stillness. “As for accuracy, well – perhaps you could tell me. Sexual repression, the taboo, emotion through _intense_ physicality…”

The goosebumps were back, Viren’s heart beginning to race.

“A pair who could merge their very souls, to possess and adore each other all their lives.”

“Oh,” Viren said uselessly, his blood like thunder in his ears. “Well, that – that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Aaravos laughed, releasing his hand. “Not at work,” he echoed, with a slow, catlike wink. “At least, not where anyone can see.”

“Wha – ” Viren blinked at the quick dismissal, the addition to his professional stipulation. “What does _that_ mean?”

But Aaravos closed the passenger side door, clearly not interested in answering.

_Bastard, bastard, bastard -_

Viren caught up to Aaravos, Claudia leading the way, her book bag heavy with at least three books (determined not to be bored during her obligatory family outing), the stares around them almost unnoticed. After the months Aaravos had lived with them, run errands with them, Viren had grown accustomed to the curiosity and awe. These days, he was much more concerned with avoiding having to explain to Aaravos the human food customs of the grocery store so that a simple run for milk didn’t turn into a two-hour lecture on whole versus skim, or the science behind lactose intolerance. 

“Admit it,” Aaravos said lowly. “Wouldn’t it delight you to hold my hand, allow me to keep you close, and watch the envy in their eyes?”

Viren resisted the urge to glance at the crowds that made their way to the field. “Only if you admit that you wish to for your own motives.”

“I do. I freely confess I would adore to see it, the questions on their faces, the wonder of my having secured such a dignified mate. I long to revel in their jealousy.”

Viren’s eyes dropped, his exhale too strong.

As always, impossible to remain annoyed at him when he spoke so candidly about his affections.

“Perhaps,” Viren said, “I can be convinced. Eventually.”

Aaravos’ smile was slow to form but spread across his face, letting the statement stand (mercifully) without further comment.

And yet, Viren was certain that was not the last he would hear of the discussion.

They found seats in the stands near the Katolis Knights’ dugout, Claudia whistling loudly to catch the entire team’s attention, waving energetically when Soren appeared to inspect the commotion.

“He’s going to regret us being here,” Viren muttered, nevertheless offering a wave back – to ensure his son he knew had kept his promise.

“He’s not,” Claudia said, with a laugh that was half-snort. “He wants to show off.”

“How understandable,” Aaravos said lightly, and smiled when Viren frowned at him.

Claudia settled her bag down and immediately held out a hand, Viren sighing and reaching for his wallet.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” he said, placing the money in her palm.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she asked. “I’m gonna get a soda and like five orders of nachos. You guys want anything?”

“Soda?” Aaravos repeated pensively. “Ah, yes, your curious carbonated phosphoric acid solution. What is traditional fare at baseball games?”

“Peanuts,” Viren said. “Popcorn. Beer.”

“I’ve never had human beer,” Aaravos said.

“I don’t know if they serve beer on campus,” Viren said.

“Doesn’t matter, Dad, I’m underage. You’ll have to get it yourself,” Claudia said. “I’ll just bring you guys some snacks and you can try everything.”

And she held her hand out for more money.

“I suppose it’s a special occasion,” Viren muttered, obliging.

“Thanks, Dad!” And then she was gone, scurrying down the bleachers, dark hair streaming behind.

“So,” Aaravos said. “Baseball. Tell me everything.”

_Everything_ was a lot, but if there was anything Viren was good at, it was statistics, rules and reason, and he spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the basics, until Claudia arrived back with her arms full of drinks and food, and he had to start the lecture anew, now with her listening. He remembered, in the first inning, that Soren was batting “clean up,” a phrase that apparently meant fourth, a coveted position to clear the bases of other runners – something Soren did on the first pitch, Viren almost gasping at the crack of the bat, the ball shooting across the field.

“SORENNN!” Claudia shrieked, her books forgotten, grabbing at Viren until he rose with her, watching the ball soar into the outfield, the crowds cheering loudly around them.

“That’s something important, isn’t it?” Claudia asked, tugging at his sleeve as two Katolis players crossed home plate. “Like an assist or something?”

“RBI,” Viren said absently, as Soren halted at second base, allowing himself a brief fist bump in the air. “Run batted in. Yes, it’s a good statistic.”

Viren sat back down with the rest of the crowd as the next batter came up to the plate, marking the play on his score sheet and wondering, for the first time, if it was a good thing Soren didn’t take after him at all. 

Several innings in, Viren was convinced of it, blinking at the statistics he recorded, comparing them to the other players.

_Why didn’t he tell me he was the star player of his team?_

Maybe he had. That thought was bitter, the familiar sharp sting of his failures as a father, and Viren was almost relieved at the call for the seventh-inning stretch.

“What is this ritual?” Aaravos said, as everyone in the stands rose.

“There’s a song that’s played here, as a way to let the audience stretch their legs,” Viren explained. “It’s a chance to walk around too, if you’re interested.”

“I am,” Aaravos said, and offered Viren a hand, escorting him over the stands.

“I promised him a beer,” Viren murmured to Claudia, trying not to notice the eyes on him, eyes on his hand clasped within Aaravos’ fingers. “Keep score for me if we’re late back.”

“You got it!” Claudia exclaimed, taking the pencil and paper from him, using her unread books as a desk.

It was quiet and dark away from the crowds and lights of the field, Aaravos refusing to relinquish Viren’s hand as they slipped behind the bleachers. Viren nearly objected, eyes darting about to ensure they were alone and unseen, but abruptly Aaravos jerked him aside, underneath the bleachers themselves, into the shadows there.

“What – ”

“Not where other eyes can see us,” the elf purred, with another pull that brough Viren colliding with his chest.

“But – ”

“Didn’t you tell me,” Aaravos said, almost glowing in the darkness, “of how Harrow used to bring you below the stands?”

Viren swallowed, too many glances at passersby who could discover them with one good look –

“Yes,” he said. “In college. It was a long time ago.”

“But still a memory you have, one that I intend on rewriting.”

Viren could have objected; he could have pulled away, or turned away, but his heart beat too quickly, the temptation too strong. He wasn’t sure he cared at all about the old memories of Harrow, but he knew how much Aaravos wanted reassurance, reasons to believe Viren when he said he would eventually allow them to be public. And so he simply lifted his chin, letting Aaravos guide him.

The kiss was nostalgic and new all at once, Viren closing his eyes, the muted crowd and lights enough to make it feel as if they were very far away, protected in this moment, the wooden stands like a great barrier. Aaravos too made Viren feel safe in a way he had not quite realized, the elf’s hands against his cheek and waist, firm but gentle, pressing them together.

_Taboo._ That’s what the silly horoscope had said, but it felt real enough now, as Aaravos deepened the kiss, Viren already feeling the familiar stirrings of what the elf did to him, even as the crowds around them might see, stumbling upon this little act of passion. And then the moment was over, too soon for Viren’s liking, Aaravos withdrawing, lips turning upward. 

“Hmm,” he said. “Thank you for obliging me.” And yet his eyes flickered upward, as if looking at someone behind them.

Viren turned, but he only saw students clamoring back to the stands, refreshed drinks in hand, laughter echoing down. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I…told you I could be convinced. Eventually.”

“I am working to that end,” Aaravos said, with another smile, this one more private.

Viren scoffed. “I’m curious as to how.”

“Those wheels are already in motion,” Aaravos said, and led the way back to the bleachers.

“I thought you guys were going to the snack bar,” Claudia said, regarding their empty hands when they returned.

“The lines were too long,” Viren said, giving Aaravos a long look.

The elf merely smiled, content to let Viren’s lie remain unchallenged.

“I don’t trust that smile,” Viren muttered lowly, as they sat back down.

“You shouldn’t,” came the easy reply.

Viren regarded him with narrowed eyes, but the game began once more, and he reluctantly tore his attention away from him to find Soren on third base.

The remainder of the game went smoothly, Katolis holding their early lead. At the last call, they struggled through the crowds to reach Soren (most students seemed to stall and step back when Aaravos took the lead, mortals awed by the presence of a god).

“Hell of a game, right?” Soren asked, breathless as he hurried over to them.

“Soren, you were _so good!”_ Claudia squealed. “At least, that’s what Dad said. He took notes on stats and everything!”

“Really?” Soren said, eyes wide on Viren.

Viren coughed. “Yes, well. The mathematics are interesting enough.” He hesitated at Soren’s expression. “You…you’re very talented, Soren. I’m grateful I was able to be here to see it.”

Soren merely stared, but Claudia nudged him. “See? See! I told you.”

It was on the tip of Viren’s tongue to ask what exactly she had told him, but Soren interjected.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said, looking both touched and uncomfortable by the praise. “So, the boys are going out for pizza to celebrate if you wanna come.”

“Ohh, can I?” Claudia asked eagerly.

“Sure, if you want to hang around a bunch of dudes.”

“It’ll give Dad some time with Aaravos anyway,” Claudia said, with an exaggerated wink that made Viren wish to sink into the ground.

Nevertheless, she wasn’t _wrong,_ and an empty house on tonight of all nights –

“Soren, you have the emergency credit card, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Treat yourself and your sister,” Viren said. “On me.”

Soren’s eyes went wide again, then narrowed. “Clauds, has he been hittin’ the wine again?”

Viren rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I have _not – ”_

“Time to go!” Claudia announced, and pushed Soren away, giving Viren and Aaravos an enthusiastic wave, before Viren could kill the warmth between father and son, and before Aaravos, thankfully, could say anything even worse.

*

“How long,” Aaravos said, as Viren unlocked the front door of the house, “does one usually spend at a pizza restaurant?”

“At Soren’s age?” Viren said. “Hours, likely. I remember being dragged to _celebrations_ like that with Harrow’s football team. Claudia is wise to take books.”

Aaravos hummed thoughtfully.

“Why do you ask?”

“I required a frame of reference,” he said, “for knowing how long I could make you scream tonight.”

Viren dropped his keys, the blush erupting instantly.

Aaravos laughed. “Your reactions intoxicate me,” he said, taking Viren by the arms and pulling him toward the stairs.

“You – you can’t just _say_ things like that,” Viren said, breathless.

“Why not? I told you I won’t lie to you.”

“But – but I – ”

“Perhaps you are worried,” Aaravos mused, “that your voice will give out.”

“That is _not_ what I – ”

But Aaravos heaved him forward abruptly, Viren crashing into him, his objections muffled by the elf’s mouth. He struggled for a moment, only a moment, before the enticement became too much, pressing back against Aaravos with from a step lower, letting the elf’s arms wrap around his waist. From Aaravos’ height and his position on a higher step, Viren’s hands rose and brushed Aaravos’ ass instead of the small of his back. Viren nearly pulled back, but then decided that the elf _deserved_ a bit of being objectified; he cupped Aaravos’ ass determinedly, feeling the low laugh it brought forth.

“You won’t need that tonight,” Aaravos murmured against Viren’s lips.

“What? Your ass?”

“Your resolve to prove yourself.”

Viren glanced up at him, surprised and annoyed to be so easily read. “I – I wasn’t – ”

_Was I?_

The elf’s fault, really, for pouring the attention on too thickly, making Viren question whether he lacked the return.

“I wanted you to know,” Viren managed, looking away, “that I – that your affections are…requited.”

He swallowed over the blush that confession brought forth, but he had been determined to say it. After Harrow, after Lissa – 

_Aaravos deserves to know._

The elf’s smile softened, a hand moving to cup Viren’s chin. “Then show me,” he said. “Let me have you as you have had me. Open, vulnerable, honest.”

Viren fidgeted against his touch, his words, blood stirring too quickly. “I gave you my word,” he said, his throat dry. “Do whatever you want to me.”

Aaravos hummed, pleased. “I intend to. Do you intend to enjoy it?”

Viren studied the woodgrain of the stairs, feeling the eyes on him.

“…entirely.”

The smile shifted, became something almost devious, and the hand left Viren’s cheek to grasp at his hand, guiding him upstairs to Viren’s bedroom. Viren took a long breath as they entered, pausing to close the door, uncertain of what to say now that he had given the permission Aaravos wanted – 

His back hit the wall before he registered the hands on him, blinking in shock only once as Aaravos’ lips captured his, the roughness unexpected and alarming – and in an instant sparked a fire in Viren’s blood. He pushed back, eyes closing automatically, letting the elf’s slick tongue pry its way into his mouth, his whine escaping before he could restrain it. Aaravos’ hands were deft, moving over his clothes, his jacket slipping to the floor, shirt buttons pulled loose, cool air on his skin, roguish fingers trailing his belt, a pinch below that made Viren break the kiss and yelp.

Aaravos pulled back, eyes glowing, tongue appearing to lick swollen lips. Viren leaned against the wall, shirt open and askew, chest heaving after only a moment. Aaravos pulled him forward, gently now, resuming the kiss as if uninterrupted, guiding Viren toward the bed, until he fell backwards onto it. Aaravos followed, the weight making Viren exhale sharply, refused a moment to breathe when the elf kissed him again and again. A hard nudge of Aaravos’ hips made Viren moan aloud, sparks in his groin, ricocheting in his blood, his limbs and fingertips.

“Ah,” Aaravos said, smug. “There’s your voice.”

“I – I’m not trying to conceal it,” Viren managed, flinching when Aaravos’ hand drifted between them, running a palm over Viren’s erection.

“Good. I intend to be serenaded all night.”

Viren opened his mouth to object to this demand, but the elf’s fingers closed abruptly and he arched into it, the protest a strangled syllable, pleasure drowning the need for it. Another ungentle, clothed thrust against him, Aaravos’ lips moving to Viren’s throat. Teeth bared briefly before Viren felt the bite, his cry more surprise than pain, the sharp sting mingling with the desperate pleasure lower. The elf’s tongue ran over his skin, soothing the wound, Viren grasping at the sheets when another orchestrated move of Aaravos’ hips threatened to undo him entirely too soon.

“Not yet,” Aaravos whispered, reading his expression easily. He withdrew, hands on Viren’s belt. Viren put an arm over his eyes, steadying his breathing, the frantic pace of his heart.

_He’s too good at this,_ he thought absently, as he felt the soft tug of his pants. _I’m going to last five minutes if I’m lucky._

But Aaravos’ pace slowed now, the elf delicately removing Viren’s clothes and tossing them carelessly behind him, dark eyes moving over exposed skin with such study that Viren had to hide his face again, unable to will the blush down. Cool fingers followed gold eyes, exploring his legs, running up calves, thighs, pausing cruelly at his groin before passing over it, trails made over his waist and abdomen.

Somehow this was even worse than the clothed humping, Viren tensing with every new inch of skin touched and revered, almost shaking when Aaravos reached his chest, gentle circles drawn over nipples.

Viren swallowed thickly, clenching his eyes closed despite the arm over them.

The hands remained on his chest but he felt the weight on the bed shift, hazarding one eye to see Aaravos slip off the edge, hands dragging across him, the elf settling down to place a soft kiss against Viren’s leg. One, two, three presses on his thighs, lifting one to place a fourth too far inside, Viren unable to restrain the whimper that left his lips.

Aaravos looked up, smiling against his skin, and bit him.

Viren’s gasp seemed too loud, eyes snapping open. But whatever protest to the pain he had planned evaporated a second later, dark fingers wrapping around his cock, Viren only letting out a hard breath, hands clenching at the sheets again. He saw the shift of white hair as Aaravos turned to his other thigh, white teeth visible for a moment –

The second bite came with a thumb across the tip of his cock and the sound Viren made sounded wholly inhuman, back arching and just as quickly collapsing back on the bed, legs shaking around Aaravos’ torso. Viren lost track of how many marks Aaravos left on him, trembling when the elf finally sat up, wrist flicking Viren’s cock lazily, his smile satisfied.

“There is a wonderfully fine line between pleasure and pain,” he mused, as Viren panted helplessly. “And you taste _exquisite.”_

This little speech given, he bowed his head, pressing lips and tongue against Viren’s entrance, and laughed when Viren swore, loud and desperate.

Impossible that the elf’s tongue was cleverer in ways beyond words, and yet Viren gasped with each penetration, his hands permanently in fists of sheets, sweat beginning to slide down his forehead, back seizing with every dreadfully perfect drag against delicate skin. A form of torture, perhaps, drowning Viren in too much pleasure to handle, unaware of anything that was not the hot, wet friction of the tongue in too intimate places.

“Please, I – ”

The words took all of his effort to find, his dry throat struggling to speak.

“Aaravos, I – I can’t take it – ”

The elf’s laugh vibrated against his groin and Viren groaned, body wracked with too much pleasure and too much pressure, aching for release, blood feverishly hot, chest beginning to throb with his heart.

Aaravos cocked his head at him, that smirk both irritating and well-earned. 

“What do you want, Professor?” he murmured.

“Mercy,” Viren said, twitching when Aaravos placed a hand on his hip, too close and too far from his cock.

Aaravos laughed again, those low tones threatening to make Viren come without a touch.

He groaned again, cursing the elf and every action of his life that brought Aaravos into it unless he would just _get to the point -_

“Have you forgotten, then?” Aaravos asked, rising gracefully, slipping his shirt from his shoulders.

“What?” Viren said, hypnotized by the darkness of violet skin, freckled with shimmering stars, fingers unclenching sheets as he considered tracing those constellations.

“Your other lovers.”

“For the gods’ sakes – ” Viren groaned, all frustration. “What do you _want_ me to say?”

Aaravos hummed, letting his pants slip from slender legs, Viren biting back a whimper at his nudity, the perfect body that was cruelly not atop his own –

“What do you _think_ you should say?” the elf said.

_I will kill him._ Viren grit his teeth, blood alight. 

“I don’t care! Will you just _fuck me!”_

Aaravos blinked, taken aback at this outburst, but Viren couldn’t take the pressure, the absence of the maddening pleasure the elf had promised and decidedly not delivered in its entirety –

“Please,” he breathed, into the stretch of silence.

The low laugh was a drug, Viren closing his eyes against it, against the warmth of the elf’s body as he climbed back into bed. A whimper at the touch of Aaravos’ cock against his, swallowing by his lips, the kisses hard now, determined. 

_I’ve finally said something right,_ Viren thought, fleetingly, before Aaravos ground his hips against him and Viren’s mind went blank, unable to understand beyond the heat in his body.

Aaravos reached below and raised one of Viren’s legs (he was vaguely aware of the red and violet marks on his thigh, evidence of Aaravos’ dominion there), fingers brushing the already teased entrance. Viren’s head fell back at the first penetration, hearing his own moan from somewhere far away, sweat dripping down his temples. Expert fingers, prodding upward to make Viren arch and gasp, his body no longer his, a slave to how well Aaravos played him. And still his cock remained untouched, pulsing painfully now, Viren desperate to touch himself but knowing Aaravos wouldn’t allow it.

He whined, pathetic and needy, when Aaravos withdrew his hand. But he couldn’t summon his pride, not now, when every part of him trembled in anticipation, his eyes wide with impatience as Aaravos paused to slick lubricant on himself. Without thinking, Viren reached down, pulling the elf’s hips forward, only half-aware of Aaravos’ surprise, letting Viren guide him closer. He gripped Aaravos’ cock and inhaled harshly at the touch of his tip against him.

“How much can you take?” Aaravos asked, pupils too wide, voice too breathless.

“Don’t you dare hold back now,” Viren said.

The sharp moan came a moment later, Viren arching against him as Aaravos entered him. _Gods,_ he was big, Viren choking at the fullness, at the static that skipped over his skin and through flesh. Even Aaravos paused now, hands too tightly gripping Viren’s hips, gold eyes closing as if in bliss.

_Bliss._

Bliss tinged with the red-hot need to push it further, Viren undulating his hips and hearing the uneven inhale from his lover.

_I’ve done everything you wanted, will you please just -_

Finally, Aaravos dragged his length out, Viren letting out the long, soft moan unquestioned, hands blindly reaching to grasp for Aaravos, the elf leaning in, fingers entwined. Viren’s hands clenched against them when Aaravos thrust back in, hard enough for the sound of skin to echo in the bedroom, Viren’s panting a series of _ah ah ahs_ as Aaravos moved inside him. He was too big, too much, pleasure and pain, heaven and hell, and Viren was drunk on it, consumed by it, pulling Aaravos down to feel more of him, grinding his cock along the elf’s abdomen, crushing desperate kisses against his mouth.

He wasn’t merely close now; the orgasm seemed to swell like a great wave, Aaravos pulling back at the exact wrong moment, Viren almost sobbing at the lack of release. He reached for Aaravos again but the elf’s pace sped up then, and Viren was left to clutch at the sheets again, tears mingling with the sweat that soaked him.

He tightened his muscles around Aaravos and the elf faltered, his eyes fluttering at that, soft pleasure flashing over his face. Punishment came a moment later, a hard thrust that made Viren’s head spin, his voice growing hoarse with each new sound Aaravos dragged from him. Viren wrapped his legs around Aaravos’ hips, pulling him closer, always closer, their ragged breathing hot against the other’s skin. 

And then, at last – Aaravos took Viren’s cock in hand, both palms wrapping around him, Viren clapping a hand over his mouth to preserve ravaged vocal cords. But it was no use: one, two, three dizzying pumps and Viren was undone in a spectacular way, back arching, head thrown back, Aaravos’ moaned name cracking in the air. For a long moment, every muscle in his body seemed to seize.

When he hit the damp sheets again, he was shaking, the feverish heat from moments before washing over him like a warm blanket. Hard muscles deflated, limbs turned to honey. Aaravos hummed, Viren glancing at him with half-closed eyes. Release, sweet and perfect, rendering him to putty, a puppet with cut strings.

His voice broke when Aaravos thrust back in. The afterglow evaporated, every part of him oversensitive, hands flailing as the elf worked his way to his own release, Viren disallowed to do anything but hold on, grasping helplessly at Aaravos’ hips, his objections little more than choked cries.

It seemed to take ages for the elf to come, but at last he did, with a shiver and an expression of ecstasy, filling Viren beyond capacity, hands tight on Viren’s waist, no doubt leaving marks there, as he had everywhere else.

Property and possession.

Viren watched him collapse gracefully beside him, chest heaving, Aaravos’ eyes closing to savor the moment. Viren let him, allowing his own body to calm, the twinges and tingling slowly fading, leaving him weak, warm. 

_Ruined._

Aaravos rolled over, resting his chin in a palm. “You are a work of art,” he murmured, leaning to offer a soft kiss.

“You’re a bastard,” Viren said – or tried to say, the words strained into a whisper, even as he accepted the kiss.

Aaravos laughed, rolling back onto the bed. “But I am yours,” he said, with a fond smile. “And you are mine.”

Impossible to argue that, Viren mused, given that for however long Aaravos had played him, he could scarcely recall his own name, let alone anyone else’s. There was also the absence of his voice, stolen by Aaravos’ touch, legs weak and numb after Aaravos’ command of his body.

“Yes,” Viren said simply, in that hoarse whisper.

There really was nothing else to say.

Aaravos’ surprise was muted, gently fading into a smile, reaching with one of those star-touched hands to guide Viren’s face toward him. Viren obliged the kiss with closed eyes, knowing, despite everything they had just done, there was no limit to how much he wanted Aaravos’ touch, and all the wonderful, breathtaking things that came with it.


	13. Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acting like I'm heartless, I do it all the time  
> That don't mean I'm scarless, that don't mean I'm fine  
> But you'll see, when someone else makes you this way  
> Oh, I'll drain your life 'til there's  
> Nothing left but your blood shot eyes  
> Oh, I'll take my time 'til I show you how I feel inside
> 
> Welcome to my, welcome to my  
> Welcome to my dark side
> 
> I can be your reckless, you can be my stain  
> I can be your heartache, you can be my shame  
> When you're feeling reckless, when you're feeling chained  
> When there's nothing left but pain
> 
> Welcome to my dark side
> 
> “Dark Side,” Bishop Briggs

They spent all of Saturday together. Viren shut off his morning alarms, pushed back grading and research, and was content, for the first time he could recall, to simply enjoy a weekend.

They left the bedroom only for food, bringing it up on a tray and settling in bed with the TV, Aaravos prodding Viren for his taste in entertainment until he was forced to confess the guilty pleasure of reality dating shows. A command to share this, and Viren sighed, turning on _The Bachelor_ and attempting to explain the basis of it.

“And you…cheer on these people to fall in love?” Aaravos asked, distracting Viren by sucking on a strawberry for too long.

“Er – no,” Viren said, shaking off the memory of how those lips felt on his skin. “To be honest…the show is so often a disaster, it made me feel better about my own life.”

Aaravos laughed, so deeply that he rolled over on the bed. “Ah! So it’s for the _drama!_ The ego! I love it. Tell me, do you feel superior now, with your bed once more occupied?”

“Incessantly,” Viren said, and kissed him to taste that strawberry, again and again, until they forgot the television was even on.

In the evening, Aaravos ran a hot bath, pouring mysterious salts and oils into the water and motioning for Viren to join him.

“It will help,” the elf said, slipping out of Viren’s gray bathrobe.

“Help with what?” Viren asked, eyes automatically trailing exposed skin.

“Everything I’ve done to you.” He gave Viren’s body a long look, eyes pausing at the blue bruises of the night before, littered on thighs and throat. Aaravos slipped into the bath, water swirling over stars and purple galaxies, deft pulling his long hair into a messy bun that somehow looked even more suggestive than the nudity.

“I – I don’t think it’s meant for two,” Viren muttered, trying and failing not to stare.

“Then sit in my lap,” Aaravos teased. “Or have you tired of that so soon?”

Viren scoffed, pretending not to notice blush rising, but he obeyed, gliding against hot water and slick skin, his body instantly relaxing against the elf. He laid his head against Aaravos’ shoulder, and the elf trailing perfumed water over his chest, hands gentle and healing, the aches of overused muscles fading.

Aaravos was gentle that night as well, his previous passion reigned in, left instead to long, adoring looks, soft touches of Viren’s face, his kisses deep and meaningful. Perhaps the point had been made the night before with the strength of the bruises left to mark Viren, and with that performance, Aaravos could restrain the need to prove himself further.

Or perhaps Viren, in obliging all of Aaravos’ whims, he had proven something himself.

But Aaravos killed the urge to explain any of it when he kissed Viren so well, moved inside him so well, arms tangled, lips desperate to taste skin until they were both satisfied, weary and warm in twisted sheets. 

Aaravos was a tonic, wearing Viren out in a manner that made sleep come quickly, deeply, no dreams or regrets to plague him – only the soft weight of the elf beside him, warm skin on his, Aaravos’ gentle breathing like a lullaby. 

A perfect day, if there was such a thing.

He woke slowly on Sunday morning, eyes heavy, body heavy, Aaravos draped over him like a blanket, perfectly content not to answer the knock at the door Viren was vaguely certain he had heard. He blinked slowly, stifling a yawn, dismissing it as a dream, and rolled his head against Aaravos’ shoulder, content to let the dream continue.

It did, louder now, Viren murmuring, “Come in” before reality caught up to him.

The door opened.

Reality crashed in.

Harrow stood in the threshold.

Viren shot up, Aaravos letting out a noise like a disgruntled cat at this rude awakening.

“Sorry!” came the immediate call, Harrow closing the door again. “You said – I thought you’d be up by now.”

Viren cursed under his breath, a stream of verbal violence, reaching for his silenced phone on the nightstand. It was past nine, with two missed calls and a voicemail from Harrow.

“We need to talk,” Harrow said now, from behind the door. “I’ll…wait in the kitchen.”

“Fine.” Viren found his voice at length, his heart beating too fast to find the words to ask what in the world Harrow could want at the worst possible moment. He ran hands over a scarlet face, cursing under his breath.

“Hmm,” Aaravos hummed. He didn’t seem put off by Harrow’s appearance; in fact, he looked distinctly pleased. “I _wonder_ what he could want,” he said, with the tone of one who knew exactly what was going on. He rose, stretching lazily, and put on Viren’s robe and slippers.

An obvious point to make.

“I have no idea,” Viren grumbled. “But I’m going to start locking that door.”

Aaravos laughed. “So he knows about us. Is that such a bad thing?”

“You’re entirely too smug about this,” Viren muttered, mind still reeling, the morning cracked like glass with Harrow’s mere presence.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aaravos said loftily. “I’ll fetch you one of my robes, in exchange for yours.”

Not an ounce of subtlety.

Viren sighed but let him go; after all, Harrow had seen what he had seen, and wearing each other’s clothes would hardly make it any less obvious. He groaned softly, head in his hands, and remained there until Aaravos returned with a kimono-like robe of some impossibly gauzy material in lilac purple, silver threads interwoven in a way that constantly caught the morning light.

“You’re kidding,” Viren said, as Aaravos dropped it in his lap, all smiles, and sauntered from the room (Viren unable to help stealing a glace at those swaying hips, even while angry). But the elf had stolen the only robe Viren owned, and so he grit his teeth, slipping on the silk and tying it too tightly, distrusting Aaravos to somehow orchestrate a wardrobe malfunction just to watch him squirm – or to elicit some manner of perceived jealousy from Harrow.

_This is not how I wanted Harrow to find out._

But how _did_ he want Harrow to find out? Viren hadn’t thought that far ahead, still too cautious to call Harrow his best friend again, too hesitant to put Aaravos and Harrow in the same room alone for fear of them causing a scene.

Like they were in the kitchen, right this moment.

He hurried downstairs, grudgingly admitting Aaravos’ robe was surprisingly comfortable, both warm and cool, impossibly light. He smelled coffee as he reached the kitchen doorway, pausing to listen to the quiet conversation that met him there.

“You really don’t need to make me coffee,” Harrow was saying. “I know my way around Viren’s kitchen.”

“You may find some things have been moved,” came the cold tone from Aaravos. “Please, you’re a guest. Allow me.”

Viren swallowed a snicker, amused by the territorial undertones in Aaravos’ voice.

A pause, the sound of a chair scraping, and Harrow’s voice came from the table now.

“I’m glad you’re getting along with Viren,” he said lightly, clearly an attempt to remain friendly despite the icy reception.

“Getting along,” Aaravos repeated thoughtfully. “Humans have so many ways to avoid saying _lovers.”_

“That’s enough,” Viren said, hurrying in, the blush violent, regretting not interrupting them sooner. “That – I sure he understands, Aaravos.”

The elf gave a careless, graceful shrug, pouring a cup of coffee. He placed it in front of Harrow, who pressed his lips together in an obvious attempt to prevent laughing.

“Milk?” Viren offered, for a lack of anything better to say.

Harrow merely nodded, almost shaking with unaired laughter.

“Oh, go ahead,” Viren grumbled, accepting another mug of coffee from Aaravos.

And Harrow did, laughing so hard his shoulders shook from it, eyes clenching closed. Viren sighed, sitting heavily, pouring too much milk into his coffee and waiting to find out exactly why his Sunday morning had taken this particular unpleasant turn.

“I’m sorry,” Harrow said at length, wiping at his eyes. “That’s a nice robe, by the way.”

_End my suffering._

Viren sighed again. “May I ask,” he managed, through grit teeth, “why you’re here?”

“Right,” Harrow said. “Look, embarrassment on both our parts aside, I am happy for you, Viren. For both of you. I had an idea, but.” He snickered again and cleared it from his throat when Viren gave him an unamused look. “I’m even glad Aaravos is so…” 

A diplomatic pause. 

“Protective.”

“That’s a word for him,” Viren muttered.

Aaravos smiled from the coffee machine, drinking from a mug that said “#1 Dad.”

“I’m serious,” Harrow said. “He’s got your back, Viren. It’s good for you. You certainly deserve someone who’ll go to bat for you.”

Aaravos shot Harrow a suspicious glance, as if he didn’t believe the sentiment was genuine.

“And…that’s sort of what brought me here this morning,” Harrow said slowly. 

“Come to toast to our relationship before we’ve confirmed it?” Viren said dryly. “How prophetic. How did you even get inside the house?”

“Soren let me in before he went running.”

“Ah. And I suppose he told you? You could have texted me without…confirming it in person.”

“He didn’t tell me anything, Viren.”

Viren looked up, knowing that statement held too much meaning to be good. “Harrow, what’s going on?”

“That’s the thing. You may have confirmed it without meaning to.” Harrow pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking the screen and pushing it across the table. “You know of the Katolis Chronicles, don’t you?”

Viren felt dread creep up without knowing why.

“What is the Katolis Chronicles?” Aaravos asked, leaning against the countertop, eyes on Harrow’s phone.

“It’s…an online messaging system for the university,” Harrow said. “Something akin to Twitter, for news related to the school.”

Viren slowly reached for the phone, dragging it closer to see the image pulled up.

“It’s been all the students are talking about lately,” Harrow said, his voice softening, as if he could feel Viren’s anxiety. “I wanted to tell you today, in person, before your classes tomorrow.”

Viren didn’t answer, eyes locked on the photo – a dim image, two silhouettes against a backdrop of bright lights. An intimate embrace, one bearded chin lifted to meet the other.

The other, with gracefully sloped horns.

“No,” Viren said aloud, the horror too strong to take.

But the image was well-lit enough to make out their features if someone knew them well enough. 

Like his students.

“Oh no.”

He put a hand over his mouth, unable to say more without the sheer shock of the moment spilling out.

“I’m sorry, old man,” Harrow said, with a rueful smile. “Afraid it’s not something you two can hide anymore.”

“Anymore?” Viren choked. “It’s barely – we’ve only – ”

“Ah,” Harrow said, knowingly. “I should have known it’s still new.”

Viren shot a desperate glance toward Aaravos, who seemed utterly unmoved by this crisis.

“But we can remove the photo, can’t we?” Viren said. “Crush the rumors, say it was fabricated – ”

Harrow cleared his throat, motioning back to the phone. “We’re a bit behind the news this time.”

Viren skimmed below the photo, wincing at the sensational caption (“Magics professors caught in scandalous affair”) and let out a groan at the statistics there.

Three thousand likes. Over six hundred comments.

He put two fingers to his temple, feeling the headache forming there.

“Aaravos has been big news for some time,” Harrow said. “It’s natural that the students are curious. I suppose…someone happened to catch you two at a bad time.”

“I _told_ you – not at work!” Viren snapped at Aaravos.

The elf sipped his coffee too loudly.

The pieces fell into place a moment later.

_“You,”_ Viren breathed, the word so meaningful that Harrow glanced toward Aaravos. “You did this on _purpose!”_

The elf laughed, a low peal that, even through anger, caused Viren’s skin to break out in goosebumps.

Viren was on his feet without realizing. “You – you _impossible_ bastard – ”

“Viren,” Aaravos purred, all smiles. _“Viren._ Why try to hide it? It’s clear to everyone we adore each other. Your students didn’t need that photograph to confirm that.”

“Then why – why even bother trying to make sure we were caught?!”

“Because _you_ needed it.”

Viren gaped at him, at a loss for words to explain how wrong Aaravos was. Or how wrong Viren was sure he _should_ be.

“What?” he asked at length.

“I…should go,” Harrow said, all tact.

“A moment, Dean,” Aaravos said. “Simply to clarify – we’ve done nothing wrong. Two adults, neither in a position over the other in our department, that photograph nothing more scandalous than what might be observed by a couple on campus at any time. Am I correct?”

Harrow gave a hapless shrug, unmoved by the glare Viren shot him. “He’s right, Viren. You two are adults. If everything has been consensual – ”

_“Utterly,”_ Aaravos said, immune to Viren’s anger.

“ – then there is no ethical reason for me to object as your dean.”

Viren groaned, the chair mimicking the sound as he collapsed back into it.

“Come now, it’s not all bad,” Harrow offered. “I certainly can’t say Aaravos isn’t…hmm. Eager?”

Viren barked a sardonic laugh, eyeing the smug elf. “He is…that.”

“The students will find another source of gossip in a week or two,” Harrow said, chuckling. “You’ve survived worse, my friend.”

Viren sighed, shoulders slumping at the supportive hand Harrow offered on his back.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he said lightly. “Remember – you can threaten to light them on fire if you wish. Tenure should cover that.”

“Does my tenure cover _actually_ lighting a student on fire?” Viren grumbled.

Harrow’s smile slipped, unable to discern if the question was meant jokingly. “Best not to tempt Opeli,” he said, with a nervous laugh, glancing at Aaravos for a possible ally.

“I once created a spell to disintegrate a living being to dust,” Aaravos said offhandedly.

Harrow’s expression was perfectly aghast for several seconds, until he remembered to shake it off. “I – I’ll go. Try some meditation to calm down before class, yeah? Oh, and – ” He motioned to Viren’s neck. “Maybe wear a turtleneck tomorrow.”

_Hell and damnation._

He had forgotten about the marks Aaravos left, no doubt livid against his skin now.

But Harrow escaped before Viren had to think of an excuse for it, Viren and Aaravos watching him leave, the front door closing a few moments later. Viren, suddenly very tired, looked up at the elf, otherworldly hair tied back, wearing Viren’s robe, drinking coffee and otherwise looking perfectly ethereal in his very human kitchen.

_Chaos._

Viren’s entire life had become chaos, fueled by nights up talking about magic unknown to man, conspiring under bleachers at baseball games, spending as much time skin to skin as possible –

Gone were the days of his quiet academia, of theoretical lectures of little practicality, of meetings and schedules.

Was this anger at Aaravos’ manipulation worth throwing it all away? Back to the lonely nights, the dreams of a man who did not love him? The days that blurred into one another for their sameness?

Viren gave him a long look, which Aaravos met evenly over the rim of his mug.

“Did you really turn someone to dust?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Aaravos said.

Viren nodded. “You’ll teach me?”

“Of course.”

The laughter came then, a constant awe of the storm Aaravos brought with him from Xadia, into the mundane world of mankind. Nothing about the elf was predictable, but the realization, rather than frightening Viren, filled him with such elation and freedom that he felt he might burst from the potential of it.

Aaravos regarded him with a smile as he laughed.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow that suggested he might not entirely care if Viren did.

“I will,” Viren said, pushing aside his coffee. “Once you get on your knees and beg for it.”

Aaravos’ gold eyes danced. “At your leisure, _Professor.”_

*

Viren stared at the clock on Monday morning, the dread in his stomach growing exponentially with each minute that passed. True to his word, Aaravos had bought Viren’s forgiveness, impossible to resist when the elf was so – as Harrow had phrased it - _eager_ to please.

Viren thought that Aaravos was decidedly easier to tolerate when his mouth was occupied with something other than cleverly twisted words.

But he was also more difficult to resist, oozing sexuality and only too happy to make Viren forget his own name, let alone why he had been angry in the first place. And so Sunday slipped away in very pleasant ways, leaving Monday morning much more daunting than Viren would have expected.

An eight o’clock morning class, inching closer as the clock hand moved to seven fifty-four.

“Come on, Dad,” Claudia offered, with a crooked smile. “It won’t be that bad! I doubt any of your students will even bring it up!”

“That’s not what they said online,” Viren muttered.

“Dad, I told you not to read the comments.”

“I couldn’t help it!” He lifted his forehead from where it had connected, repeatedly, with the desk, eyes narrowing when Aaravos appeared in the doorway.

“Shall we?” he asked, extending a hand out.

“You’re coming to my class?” Viren scoffed. “Why? To show off?”

“To show _you_ off.”

A compliment, clearly meant to manipulate, and yet Viren felt the soft warmth on his face.

“Very well,” he said stiffly, taking Aaravos’ hand (he tried extremely hard to avoid seeing the touched look on Claudia’s face at this act of intimacy). “But you will sit, _quietly,_ and observe only. I don’t need you feeding the fires of these rumors.”

“Not really a rumor if it’s true, Dad,” Claudia chimed in, giggling when he shot her a glare.

“Today’s lecture is on Primal Sources,” Viren said. “If you have anything of interest to add about that, I welcome your input. Otherwise – ”

Aaravos made a zipping motion over his lips.

The lecture hall was two floors below, and Viren paused at the closed doors for a moment, fingers tight around his briefcase strap. A long breath to steel himself, a pull at his turtleneck (he had acknowledged Harrow’s wisdom regarding that suggestion) and he pushed the door open, determined not to let a mere hall of students intimidate him.

Before he reached the podium, the entire lecture hall, silent moments before, broke into raucous applause. Viren froze, turning toward them with wide eyes. Behind him, Aaravos offered an enthused wave, soaking up the attention.

Viren turned on his heel and marched back out the doors.

“Dad!” Claudia scurrying after him, pulling him by the sleeve of his blazer. “Come on, Dad, you can’t just walk out of class!”

“They _applauded!”_ Viren said, aghast. “It – it’s inappropriate!”

“They’re just doing it to get under your skin,” Claudia said. “Because you’re usually so reserved. I doubt they mean to be cruel. They’re probably happy for you!”

Viren sighed, exhausted by all of this, rubbing the space between his eyes to force the headache away. He strongly doubted, given his yearly reviews, that students tortured by his homework demands would be happy for him in any regard.

“Also…you left Aaravos in there with them alone.”

“Hell,” Viren said. 

The only thing worse than facing his students was leaving Aaravos with them.

He pushed the doors open and strode to the podium, ignoring the renewed applause.

“That’s quite enough,” he said, his voice echoing authoritatively in the hall.

The applause died slowly, the students exchanging glances with each other.

“I am very aware of the…recent rumors between myself and Professor Aaravos,” Viren said stiffly, pulling his reading glasses and laptop from his briefcase.

From the corner where Claudia always sat, Aaravos took a seat beside her, giving another pleased wave.

_Bastard._

“And I will be addressing none of them,” Viren continued. “My classroom has no time for idle gossip.” His laptop registered the projector and the slides appeared overhead. “Last week, we were discussing the six Primal Sources. Claudia, if you could…?”

She hurried to the front table as the class let out a series of quiet groans, pulling jars from her bag – one of water, another of soil, a candle, a jar of glowing butterflies.

But the groans were encouragement; if the students were too busy taking notes, they couldn’t stop to think about inappropriate rumors. 

Or the truth of them.

“The obvious ones are here,” Viren said. “Earth, Ocean, Fire – ” A snap of his fingers and the candle lit, the students murmuring in appreciation. “The rest we discussed last week, and I look forward to reading your essays on them.”

A hand, which Viren hesitated to accept for a moment.

_Best not to let them sense fear._

“Yes?”

“We aren’t getting the essays back today?” the girl asked.

A fair question, given how prompt Viren usually was with the grading. But He had left the essays in a pile on his desk untouched, too distracted by Aaravos’ touch – 

“Er – no,” Viren said, with a light cough. “I…will have them back before your next quiz. Unfortunately, I was rather busy this weekend.”

“I bet,” came a sarcastic voice from the back, Viren turning on his heel to locate the speaker. But all that met his glare were suppressed snickers, students avoiding his eyes.

“I would hope,” he said coldly, “that you would offer more respect to a new professor, especially one from Xadia, who relies on human hospitality to settle here comfortably.”

“Very comfortably,” another voice shouted from the back.

“Is my romantic life _really_ more interesting than a lecture about _magic?”_ Viren said, his voice rising above the scattered laughter.

A chorus of “Yes!” met this rhetorical question and Viren felt his tempter boiling over, the laughter at his expense too much to take.

_“Enough!”_

The candle flared, fire rising in a great cyclone, fueled by the sheer power of Viren’s anger. It licked the projector screen, heat radiating over the hall.

But the students had fallen silent, eyes wide, alarmed.

An upturn of Viren’s hand and the cyclone collapsed, flames falling harmlessly to the floor and vanishing, until only the pillar candle remained, the flame small and calm.

He took a long breath, unclenching his jaw. Best not to tempt Opeli if he really did light a student on fire.

He could feel Claudia’s concern from her corner, but Aaravos watched with amusement in his eyes.

“Enough,” Viren said again, more quietly. “Now, if anyone would like to continue the lesson on _magic…”_

A dozen hands shot into the air.

Viren sighed, pointing at the girl closest to him.

“What about dark magic?”

A hush fell over the class. At once, all eyes fell onto Viren.

Hardly a secret that Viren’s research focused almost entirely on dark magic, but it remained mysterious, unpublished – decidedly kept from prying student eyes. An entire branch of magic, hidden just out of reach enough to cause rumors and spark curiosity.

“I – ” He glanced at Aaravos, who nodded silently. “I don’t have the university’s permission to teach it,” Viren said.

The students seemed to lean forward at this statement.

Viren sighed again, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“It’s called the seventh Primal Source,” he said at length, wondering how much trouble he would get into with Harrow for saying any of this. “Unofficially, that is. According to Xadia, it’s an abomination.”

The students seemed to hold their into the pause.

“Unlike the other types of magic,” Viren said, motioning to the candle and jars, “dark magic is not limited to a single element. It is versatile, with potentially unlimited uses. It is also uniquely human, performed by absorbing the natural magic inherent in other creatures.” He looked at the jar of butterflies, the class’ gaze moving with him.

“Such as Sunray Monarchs,” he said. “The uses of dark magic range from anything from producing food, healing, creating shadow creatures – ancient texts suggest it can even raise the dead.”

More hands shot up.

“You,” Viren said, pointing to a boy in the middle of the hall.

“So, as an elf, Professor Aaravos can cast magic without a Primal Stone or using dark magic?”

“That is correct.”

Twice as many hands now, Viren impatiently pointing to a student toward the back.

“Can we see him cast something?”

Aaravos raised a single eyebrow as the class turned to him as one. With a graceful shrug, he rose, sauntering to the front of the lecture hall. 

“May I?” he asked Viren.

“Just don’t burn the school down,” Viren said dryly.

A few students laughed nervously before falling into breathless silence.

“Have you never showed them magic?” Aaravos asked, amused. “Such reverence for lighting a single candle.”

Viren rolled his eyes. “The department prefers if I keep lectures…theoretical.”

“Ah,” Aaravos said knowingly. “How dull for the students! How can they study the great tomes of magical theory without a demonstration of what can be done with it?”

Viren bowed sarcastically, giving him space. Aaravos gave a long nod of his head, inhaling deeply, eyes closing.

He began to glow.

Hair almost blindingly white, melding with the glow from the stars on his cheeks – even the great star on his chest, concealed by the navy suit and lilac shirt, seeped through the fabric, until he resembled some manner of god. Viren’s lips parted soundlessly, the rest of the classroom fading to that which was not the glorious creature before him.

One elegant wrist rising, and then at once he moved, both hands drawing a rune in the air, electric purple light pulsating –

The bolt of lightning struck the front of the lecture hall with a deafening crack. Several students screamed, those in the front seats hastily scrambling to move.

But the lightning vanished with the single bolt, leaving a blackened mark on the tile floor, the acrid scent of burned linoleum left in the air. Viren stared, goosebumps on his arms, the crackle of static on his skin.

He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of half-panicked students.

“Show off,” he said.

A few students laughed, beginning to resettle in seats.

“Now,” Viren said, waving away the smoke from the podium, “does that inspire you to study magical theory?”

“Oh, come now, Viren,” Aaravos said, smoothing back already perfect hair. “They are but human! Surely you can show them what _human_ mages can do.”

Viren shot him a wary glance. “I don’t – ”

“Who would like to see Professor Thorne do a bit of _dark_ magic?” Aaravos said, addressing the class.

Dozens of hands shot into the air.

“I’m expressly prohibited by the department to perform dark magic for students,” Viren said wryly.

“Perhaps we can keep it our little secret then.” Aaravos’ dark eyes trailed over the silent students. “Can’t we?”

A chorus of _yeses_ and Viren paused. The temptation was great, a small demonstration to restore the authority of his class and make them forget about the affair with Aaravos entirely.

Not to mention – a real demonstration of what his magic really was, to students who were not allowed to truly understand. 

A loosening of the leash the department had placed on Viren.

_How angry would Harrow be?_

“Phones away,” Viren announced. “Being photographed once was…enough.”

A scatter of laughs, even Aaravos turning a pleased smile toward him at the reference to their shared scandal.

“Claudia, what do you have in that bag of yours?” Viren asked, motioning for her to come forward.

She did, pulling small jars and pouches from her bag, eyes dancing. “Are you sure about this, Dad?” she whispered, as he examined her ingredients. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Very likely,” Viren said, spying a plastic bag of white powder. “But this may be the push we need to finally teach _real_ magic. This will do. Thank you.”

Claudia grinned, clearly on his side. “Do you need a volunteer?”

“Safer than using a student,” Viren agreed. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Powered snake belly,” Viren announced to the class, holding up the white powder. “Now, you will forgive me if I don’t discuss the theory of this spell for once. I’m going to be in enough trouble simply for showing it.”

The class remained silent, spellbound by the anticipation.

“I’ll need something to – ah.” Viren turned to Aaravos, reaching to unbuckle the elf’s belt.

“Why, Professor,” Aaravos purred, “in front of the class?”

“Hush,” Viren said, ignoring the warmth on his face and the suppressed giggles of students as he whipped the belt free from Aaravos’ hips. “Or I’ll cast this on you.”

Aaravos smirked but stayed silent.

Viren held up the belt, pulling it taut to heard the snap of leather. “An ordinary belt,” he said, and placed it in a coil on the table, beside Claudia. A pinch of the snake belly powder in his palm, a soft exhale to watch it rain gently down –

_"Dnibnu leets gnirehtils."_

For a long moment, no one seemed to even breathe.

And then, slowly, the belt moved, black leather now snakeskin, the metal buckle transformed into the sleek head of a viper, rising and turning toward the class. A hushed breath from the class as it uncurled, glinting eyes on Claudia.

_"Reh dnib leets gnirehtils."_

The viper recoiled and then launched itself toward Claudia – a number of students screamed, made noises of horror – 

In an instant, the snake was gone, black body now a slender chain that ran from the table to Claudia’s wrist.

Silence fell.

“Ta-da!” Claudia said, wiggling her hands to make the chain jiggle.

Slowly, the class fell back into applause, scattering clapping building until the room nearly shook with it. Only Aaravos watched Viren now, the mage plucking a butterfly from the jar, the murmured spell unheard over the clamor, purple-veined skin restored to human paleness.

With luck, without the observing eyes of students, too distracted by the spell to think to watch him.

The chain dissolved with a flick of Viren’s wrist, Claudia taking a deep bow for her performance.

“Now then,” Viren said loudly, the commotion dying down. “May I please teach you magic today?”

*

“We’re going to be in _so_ much trouble,” Claudia said happily, skipping back to Viren’s office.

“I will be,” Viren corrected. “It’s unlikely HR will seek to punish you for simply following my orders. And Aaravos is too new – Opeli would prefer to place all blame on me.”

“Why does she dislike you so much?” Claudia asked, wrinkling her nose.

“She reminds me of your mother,” Viren grumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing. I don’t know, Claudia, some people just…don’t get along. She disapproves of my research and influence on Harrow.”

Claudia shrugged. “If you say so. I’m going for coffee. Can I bring you back something?”

“My usual. And white tea for Aaravos.”

The elf smiled as they reached Viren’s office, Claudia scurrying off.

“Do you regret it?” Aaravos asked softly, as Viren unlocked the door.

“Regret?” Viren repeated, incredulous. He closed the door behind them, shaking his head. “I feel _alive,_ Aaravos! To be able to finally show my students what magic really _is -_ the power of it, the potential of it – ” He let out a long breath, leaning against the door. “It’s something I wanted to do years ago.”

Aaravos merely smiled.

“Thank you,” Viren said. “For…pushing me, I suppose. For reminding me that magic is more than…books and theory.”

“I am honored to have assisted.”

“I mean it,” Viren pressed. “Maybe Opeli can convince the department that this is an incident worth challenging my position, but it’s more likely that I can convince Harrow to allow it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

“I find,” Aaravos said, all smugness, “that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

Viren snorted. “As I am personally aware.”

“But I confess,” the elf said, “that watching you perform magic – truly throw yourself into a spell – ” He gave a breathy sigh, too indicative of something he would not say aloud.

But Viren’s heart accelerated regardless.

“I’ve never seen you cast a spell like that,” Viren said. “The sheer _power_ of it – to think that you only have a fraction of your original power – it was – ”

Aaravos met his eyes.

“Sexy.”

Aaravos’ eyes widened, and then he smiled, exceedingly pleased as Viren pushed him gently backward, until the elf sat against the desktop.

“Why, Professor,” he said again, his voice dropping. “What happened to ‘not at work?’”

“Shut up,” Viren murmured.

“With pleasure,” Aaravos said, and closed his eyes when Viren kissed him, content – no, _reveling_ in their shared adoration. Viren felt him push back, one kiss so impossibly intoxicating, knowing that this feeling was fear and fire all at once, something to fuel him, burn him.

Impossible not to fall in love with what swallowed him, broke him down to rebuild him – transformative magic of an entirely new kind.


	14. Gone are the Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were times you should have stalled  
> As you sailed into the fog  
> Like a dog, I smelled your fear  
> God knows you should have been here with me  
> But you were gone  
> …  
> And fuck what they're saying  
> My mind is made up  
> And they're all just starving  
> Like the rest of us  
> And I'm trying here, I'm trying here
> 
> Gone are the days when the wind would brush my face  
> Gone are the days when you're the wind  
> Gone are the days when your heavy heart is worn on my sleeve
> 
> “Gone,” The Head and the Heart
> 
> (I listened to this band incessantly for this story. Thank you for the all inspiration, funky little indie band.)

Harrow was waiting at Viren’s door when Viren arrived at work on Tuesday.

His presence wasn’t surprising; in fact, Viren had expected a phone call, or an email – something after the buzz of student gossip that described Viren and Aaravos casting magic of exaggerated strength. According to the Katolis Chronicles server reports immediately after the lecture, Aaravos had split the entire lecture hall in two with lightning, and Viren had conjured enough snakes to cover the floor.

Amusing enough for Viren to read to Aaravos over wine that evening, but short-lived, the more dramatic stories quelled when at last, a student anonymously posted a video of the lesson.

By morning, the commotion about the demonstration was even bigger, fueled by witness testimony and the convenience of smart phones. Viren skimmed the headlines over coffee, radiating satisfaction.

“You don’t appear surprised by a video coming to light,” Aaravos remarked over coffee. “Even though you instructed them not to record us.”

“There are two lessons you will learn very quickly as a professor,” Viren said. “Firstly, that students will constantly challenge your authority, and secondly, that they never read the syllabus.”

“You planned this.” A statement of fact, Aaravos regarding Viren with a pleased glint in his eyes.

“A borrowed trick from you,” Viren said, leaning over to kiss him, and almost unembarrassed when Soren walked in, loudly telling them to get a room.

Perhaps Harrow had been bidding his time to respond to the incident, or he had been sifting the fact from fantasy. Regardless, Viren wished him a good morning cheerfully.

“Claudia, why don’t you help Aaravos in the laboratory while I talk to Harrow,” Viren said.

Claudia glanced at Aaravos and then back to Viren. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Unless Harrow needs you and Aaravos for this conversation…?”

“No,” Harrow said, managing a smile for Claudia’s sake. “Not today.”

Claudia waved as she and Aaravos walked off, Viren unlocking his door and motioning Harrow inside.

“I suppose you know why I’m here,” Harrow said, as Viren closed the door and sat down, turning on his desktop computer.

“Do I need a lawyer, Harrow?”

The dean sighed, sitting across from him. “No, no, nothing like that. But Viren – really?”

“It’s a fair question,” Viren said with an offhand shrug, “if the university feels as though they want to challenge my tenure.”

“It’s not going to come to that,” Harrow said. “There was a meeting, briefly, before the video surfaced, to ascertain whether you placed students in danger.”

“And then you saw the video,” Viren said, “and saw that it was no more dangerous than a chemistry teacher doing liquid nitrogen demonstrations.”

“That’s more or less what I told Human Resources,” Harrow said dryly, “although there were still arguments.”

“Opeli.”

“Opeli,” Harrow confirmed. “You didn’t hear that from me, by the way.”

“Call it a logical deduction,” Viren snorted. “She’s been looking for reasons to fire me for years.”

“You didn’t have to try and give her one.”

“This wasn’t about her, Harrow. It’s about being able to truly teach my own subject - _without_ HR constantly hovering over my lesson plans with a black marker to censure the most relevant parts.”

“You could have at least not let Aaravos destroy the floor with _literal_ lightning.”

“I didn’t know what he was going to cast until I recognized the rune.”

Harrow gave an incredulous chuckle. “Please don’t mention that to HR. I convinced them you knew ahead of time and confirmed student safety.”

Viren laughed and turned it into a feigned cough. “Of course.”

“The fact is,” Harrow continued, lips twitching, “is that officially, you’re in a bit of trouble with me. We’re inundated with concerned parents, community members…”

Viren caught the familiar tone of unspoken truths and suppressed a smile. “…unofficially?”

Harrow shook his head. “There’s…interest, Viren. A tremendous amount of interest. Students contacting registration to find your classes, press calling to interview you and Aaravos, mages from other universities asking about your research – the library had to escort students to the magics section to prevent a veritable stampede.”

Viren listened, blinking in surprise.

“You’ve done something,” Harrow said. “I…can’t say whether it’s all good news for the university, but you’ve managed to drum up interest in a dusty old department and it – well. It’s something big. The bottom line is that I’ve spoken up for you and convinced the school that you have to take responsibility – you and Aaravos both. You’ve opened eyes to what your research can do, and you need to teach it in a way that is educational, secure, and _safe._ Leaving students to attempt dark magic from old books is dangerous – I know enough about what you do to understand that.”

“There’s nothing valuable in the library books that HR hasn’t purged. No student but Claudia could cast dark magic with those.”

“Even so. The point stands.”

“Then…” Viren chewed on his lip, thinking rapidly. “Then it’s likely I will need to teach an entire course on dark magic, along with my usual classes.”

Harrow gave him a long look, as if realizing how much of a reward this would be for pointedly disregarding university policy.

“Yes,” he said at length.

Viren sat back, the smile impossible to conceal.

“Don’t look too pleased,” Harrow warned. “You’re still going to be highly supervised. Clearly Aaravos is cut from the same magical cloth as you, so we’ll need to find a method to objectively consider your demonstrations and lesson plans.”

“But I _can_ do demonstrations.”

Harrow inhaled, visibly weighing his answer. “Eventually, yes.”

Viren laughed, short and victorious.

“But not today,” Harrow cut in sternly. “I mean it, Viren. You forced a new paradigm and the department is reeling. Let them process it. Maybe do some demos for them. Show them it’s safe. Controlled.”

Viren listened, nodding at the wisdom of perhaps not pushing boundaries further – despite a great desire to do so. “Understood.”

Harrow looked relieved by this concession. “Glad we agree. I confess, it’s hardly a punishment, giving you exactly what you want.”

“Not exactly,” Viren said. “Not until it’s confirmed I get to teach dark magic.”

“Well, then it’s a compromise.” Harrow rose, shaking his head. “It was reckless, my friend. Very reckless.”

“I know.” Viren sighed. “I…didn’t know what else to do.”

Harrow nodded. And then he smiled. “At least students aren’t talking about you and Aaravos making out under the bleachers as much.”

Viren, not expecting the abrupt change of subject, felt the blush erupt without warning.

“Don’t you have a meeting about me to attend?” Viren hissed.

Harrow laughed, deep and full-bodied. “I do, actually – an annoying number of them. You owe me, old man.”

Viren’s temper faded, eyes dropping. “I know. Harrow – thank you. Sincerely.”

“The genuine gratitude is new,” Harrow teased. “I like it."

Viren waved him out impatiently, the intimacy of _genuine emotion_ still uncomfortable enough to make him squirm in his chair.

“You’re welcome!” Harrow called from the hallway, impervious to Viren’s apparent heartlessness.

Viren sat, digesting the sudden realization of everything he had wanted in his career – but only for a moment. He stumbled out of his chair, letting his office door shut behind him, hurrying around the corner to Aaravos’ laboratory –

\- and immediately collided with someone on the other side.

“I beg your pardon – ”

“No, it was my fault – ”

Both apologies stopped abruptly, Viren’s eyes falling on a familiar and distinctly unpleasant face.

He cleared his throat. “Opeli.”

“Viren.” She almost spat his name, her chin jutting upward.

“Please, excuse my rush.”

“Of course,” she said, in a tone that suggested anything else. “Has…the dean been by to see you?”

“Oh. Er – yes, he has.”

“Ah. Good.”

“Yes, I – ” _What had Harrow called it?_ “I acknowledge the official rebuke from him on behalf of the university. Clearly, my using magic in its intended manner is something that, as an expert, I obviously should have asked human resources.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, unable to fully detect whether his innocent tone was meant sarcastically.

“And of course, I gave my word to Harrow – I’m sorry – to Dean King that I will refrain from further demonstrations in my classroom until he finalizes my curriculum on dark magic.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Opeli said, “risking student lives like that to get what you want?”

“No one was at risk,” Viren said. “If you truly reviewed my lesson plans as you claim to, you might have learned that. Now, if you will excuse me, I have research to do so that I may fully take _responsibility_ for teaching proper practical magic.”

He gave her a sardonic bow, skirting past the glare he had long ago grown immune to, and slipped into Aaravos’ laboratory, waiting to close the door before he allowed himself to laugh.

“Things went well, I presume?” came Aaravos’ voice from the back of the lab.

“You!” Viren said, closing the distance quickly. “You’re a genius!”

“I have been called so before,” the elf said, amused.

“Your plan – it was perfect! I could kiss you!”

“Why don’t you?” Aaravos asked, lips turning upward.

Viren paused, noticing Claudia wave from the reagent cupboard.

He cleared his throat, and she let out a small, “Oh!” But she turned her back to them obediently, and Viren dismissed every bit of embarrassment to pull Aaravos to him, ensuring the elf felt every bit of gratitude Viren could press into his lips.

*

By Friday, it was common knowledge that Viren’s dramatic magic display had forced the department’s hand to begin offering practical magic classes. Aaravos kept up with the gossip in the Katolis Chronicles, happily reading the relevant articles about Viren and himself, far too gleeful when the gossip turned scandalous.

“Here an anonymous student wrote, ‘Who cares about magic? I’d take the classes just to listen to the elf lecture,’” he read Thursday night, as they relaxed in Aaravos’ soothing bedroom, Viren’s head cradled in his lap, a book in Viren’s hands.

Viren snorted. “Hardly appropriate.”

Aaravos merely hummed. “’Does anyone else think Professor Thorne and Professor Aaravos are super hot together?’”

“It does not say that,” Viren said, eyes determinedly on his book (despite not processing a word of it).

“Oh, I assure you it does,” Aaravos purred. “And look how many comments agree! Here – ’I’d love to know what goes on in those office hours.’”

Viren lowered his book, the heat almost enough to light the pages on fire, his nose an inch away from the print.

“‘I thought I’d pass out when Professor Thorne took off Professor Aaravos’ belt.’”

Viren had not come to regret the magic demonstration, but he winced at that particular power play, even if it had made Aaravos all too eager when they returned home that night, the elf ripping a tear into the shoulder seam of Viren’s shirt.

“’Professor Thorne must not be as prickly as we thought if he can land someone like that.’”

Viren grit his teeth against the heat of his blush, waiting for the novelty of these comments to finally wear off of Aaravos.

“’Professor Thorney? More like Professor Horn – ‘”

“Enough!” Viren said, slamming the book against his chest, and Aaravos laughed, putting the phone down for something more tempting – a blushing lover, only too eager to let his annoyance die with a kiss.

On Friday afternoon, after Viren’s last class (suspiciously beyond capacity, even in the department’s largest lecture hall), his phone trilled as he was trailed by eager students asking about the enrollment for future courses. A perfect enough excuse to drag Aaravos away with him, citing business (ignoring the knowing glances of the students).

“It’s Harrow,” Viren said, as they left the lecture hall, squinting in the sunlight. “It’s official – we’ll be expanding the department to include practical courses. Not that you ever lost faith.”

“I did not,” Aaravos said. “But I am pleased for us nonetheless.”

Viren snorted, texting Harrow back. “We should celebrate,” he typed, “considering how much you helped us accomplish this.”

“Would love to, old man, but not today. It’s been four months.”

Viren stopped so suddenly in the courtyard that Aaravos bumped into him.

“Is something wrong?” Aaravos asked, peering over Viren’s shoulder.

“Four months,” Viren said aloud. “Sarai – his wife – she passed – ”

“Ah,” Aaravos said. “I see.”

“And I suggested celebrating,” Viren muttered. “Aren’t I a perfect ass.”

“It’s been a busy week, Viren. He knows that.”

“Yes, but…” Viren stared at the text, a wave of helplessness coming over him. “He’ll go to the cemetery, I’m sure of it. Aaravos – ”

“If you need to go, I will understand,” Aaravos said gently, a hand on Viren’s shoulder, heavy and reassuring.

“Really? I thought you disliked him.”

Aaravos shrugged. “Perhaps I do. But if it is important for you to go, I will not stand in your way.”

“Thank you.” Viren glanced at the phone again. “I’ll take some flowers – be the friend I should have been four months ago. I’ll be back for dinner. I won’t keep you waiting.”

“Go,” Aaravos said quietly. “Mourn your dead, and when you come home, I will remind you of how to feel alive.”

Viren’s blush felt inappropriate, but Aaravos’ obliging attitude surprised him so that he didn’t resist when the elf leaned in to offer a soft kiss.

He recalled exactly where they were a moment later, when a group of students whooped and cheered as they passed by in the courtyard.

Viren broke away, face hot. “You did that on purpose!” he hissed.

Aaravos laughed. “A small payment to placate me during your absence,” he said, and continued to chuckle when Viren stalked off. Viren pointedly ignored both his fiery blush, the loud call _“Get it, Professor Thorne!”_ and the elf who instigated it all, reminding himself that even Harrow couldn’t save him if he really did light a student on fire.

*

Viren sat in the car for too long, feeling suffocated despite the fresh air immediately outside the door. A beautiful day, with the sun streaming through the greenery of the trees – one that Viren would have preferred enjoying entirely indoors, curtains drawn, the touch of galaxies on his skin until the true night sky showed through the highest windows of his bedroom.

He shook the regret from his mind, reminding himself why he was here. He pushed the door open before he could think, grabbing the dozen white roses from the passenger seat, the cellophane crackling against his palm. He inhaled the late spring air deeply, letting the warmth fill him, push back against the memories contained on the manicured lawn, the other life he had lived only four months ago.

Harrow was at the gravesite, as Viren had predicted. Viren hesitated some distance off, studying the bow of his head, the grass that had begun to grow over Sarai’s grave. It still didn’t feel real, her being gone, but of course Viren hadn’t been around Harrow enough to process it, hadn’t seen Callum or Ezran, or even dropped off a casserole at their house.

That’s what people did, isn’t it? Give mourning friends casseroles?

Maybe grief made people hungry. Viren always found, in the years he grieved his own existence, that it was easier to avoid eating entirely. But even then – Claudia had been by his side, bringing him pancakes when he mourned the loss of life from his marriage, Soren making gagging noises and muttering about dark magic.

Viren cleared his throat, blinking back the sudden pressure there, the sting of unshed tears. His children, mourning their mother’s departure but forced to coax their father back to life.

Possibly what Harrow’s children had to do, given that Harrow had no one else with Viren’s abandonment.

“You came.”

Viren’s head shot up, meeting Harrow’s eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “Er – yes. I…I thought you could use a friend.”

“Are you crying?”

_“No,”_ Viren said aggressively, and wiped at his eyes with his free hand.

Harrow laughed softly, offering a handkerchief. Viren finally approached, taking the handkerchief, already dampened.

“Thank you,” he said. “I brought flowers. It’s…a poor way to say I’m sorry to her, but…”

Harrow nodded, eyes drifting to the gravestone, Sarai’s name in polished marble. “She always hated white roses.”

“What?” Viren jerked his head up.

“Said they reminded her of funerals.”

Viren stared, shoulders slumping. “So I am doomed to be unforgiven even in her afterlife,” he muttered.

Harrow laughed, stronger now. “Now, now,” he said. “It’s still a nice gesture. And it’s very…you. She would laugh.”

Viren managed half a smile, crouching to place the bouquet on the grass. Harrow watched, hands clasped, and for a long moment they fell respectfully silent. Viren steadied his breathing, fingers playing with the hem of Harrow’s handkerchief, too many things to say; and so he remained quiet, waiting for Harrow to break the silence first.

“I have to ask,” Harrow said finally, after far too long. “When did you start putting milk in your coffee?”

“What?” Viren looked at him, sure he misheard the question.

“At your house last weekend. You put milk in your coffee. You used to always take it black. When did that change?”

Viren sighed. “A few months or so. Heartburn.”

Harrow chuckled. “Me too.” He let out a long, rueful sigh. “To be young again. Things were so much easier back then, weren’t they?”

Viren snorted lightly, shaking his head. “No, they weren’t. We were just…stupid.”

Harrow chuckled. “Hmm, maybe you’re right about that.”

The urge to apologize rose up in Viren’s throat, to say all the things that needed to be said, to clear the fog from between them – 

“Harrow – ”

“Will you let me apologize for leading you on?” Harrow asked gently. “Now that you’ve moved on?”

“No,” Viren said automatically, hastily correcting himself at Harrow’s exasperated expression. “I mean – yes, but first…I’d like to. Because with Aaravos…he’s helped me put some things in perspective. The truth is, Harrow, you didn’t lead me on. Not…in the way I’ve blamed you. You were always open about what we were, and I – ”

The words were coming too quickly, leaving his mouth disjointed.

“I am so sorry,” Viren said, forcing the apology out properly, eyes stinging again. “For leaving you to deal with this alone. After so many years of knowing where we stood, I couldn’t…”

He wiped impatiently at his eyes again.

Harrow offered a crooked smile. “I know. It’s hard not to hope.”

“Yes,” Viren said heavily. 

“And I made things worse that, I admit that. I thought…Viren, it had been _years._ I thought you were over me. Or I convinced myself you were. I wanted very badly to believe you were, that night.”

“As if I didn’t do exactly the same thing to you when Lissa left,” Viren muttered. “I was the one who was always so rational. I could justify anything. And I did. Repeatedly.”

Harrow nodded, slow and understanding.

“I don’t think I’m one of those people who can…separate love from…”

“Sex,” Harrow said, and smiled when Viren turned pink.

“Yes,” Viren muttered. “I told myself I could. But that’s not who I am, and I began to hate myself for it.”

“I hope you know that my lack of romantic feelings for you never said anything about your worth, Viren,” Harrow said. “I know how much you hate me calling you my friend, but I need you to know how much of a place of honor that is in my life. I don’t have many.”

“Which is why you were an obstinate fool about Aaravos,” Viren grumbled.

Harrow hummed. “Not my finest hour,” he admitted softly. “I was selfish, I confess it. I defended you for so long to Sarai, and then to lose you as my closest friend after she – ” He cleared his throat, blinking too rapidly. “It means so much to have you here now. I hope you know that.”

“I’m sorry,” Viren murmured, offering the handkerchief back, shaken by this quiet act of emotion. “I…I’ve been an awful friend, leaving you to your grief. I don’t know how to forgive myself for that.”

“Find a way, old man,” Harrow said, the sideways smile returning as he brushed the handkerchief against his eyes. “Because I don’t need you beating yourself up again on my behalf. I want my old friend back, in whatever way you feel you can give me.”

“I think we can arrange something,” Viren said, unable to keep the smile from tugging at his lips. Relief washed over him, as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest, and he could breathe again for the first time in months. “Maybe we can all go running again,” he added dryly.

Harrow made a face. “Only if I can keep pace with you next time.”

“I’ll pass. I was never a good athlete. And Aaravos wears me out in other ways.”

The joke slipped through unthinkingly, the sort of thing Viren might have said years ago in college, after one too many mystery drinks in Solo cups at Harrow’s fraternity.

Harrow’s mouth dropped open, and then he laughed, the sound echoing over the cemetery, at odds with the solemn atmosphere. “Atta boy,” he said, giving Viren a gentle punch on the shoulder.

Viren shook his head, but the smile was impossible to hold back.

“Speaking of Aaravos! You two should come over for dinner. A proper introduction to a new colleague, and my best friend’s partner.”

“Really?” Viren asked dubiously. “You mean that?”

“Of course! Not all of us can hold grudges as well as you.”

Viren snorted, but he wasn’t sure he could deny the statement. “On that note…”

Harrow raised his eyebrows.

“Aaravos…doesn’t like you.”

Harrow laughed, louder than ever. “Well, how _could_ he? I’m sure he’s heard nothing but horror stories from you!”

Viren coughed guiltily. “Ah, well – ”

“Tell him it’s a peace offering. He’s won you, heart and soul.”

“Really now,” Viren muttered.

“Am I wrong?” Harrow asked, the smile remaining on his lips now.

Viren looked away, face warm. “Well…”

“Well?”

“I – I kissed him – in public. Before I left work. Students _cheered.”_

Now Harrow grinned. “Now that _is_ serious,” he said.

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate.”

“The students are going to give you a hard time because you’re a tough professor, Viren.”

“No, I mean…should we be talking about this here?”

“Of course!” Harrow said. “Sarai would make me regret not having a bit of fun at your expense, especially since she can’t do it herself.”

Viren managed a quiet laugh. “You’re right, of course.” He regarded the grave again, the colorful wildflowers Harrow had brought. “Lissa always hated red roses,” he said, the memory returning abruptly. “Too cliché, she said. I think she finally decided to leave me when I brought her a dozen red roses after an argument.” 

He sighed. “She loved carnations. I always forgot.”

Harrow hummed.

“You always loved tiger lilies,” Viren said. “I never forgot that.”

Harrow chuckled, shaking his head. “Amazing how smart we’ve become over the years,” he said, “and yet we’re still so stupid. It amazes me women put up with us at all.”

“Claudia said something like that the other day,” Viren said. “She may be smarter than both of us by now. At least…I hope so. She’s so determined to find the good in everything and everyone. I envy that.”

Harrow laughed. “And Soren?”

“He’ll forgive me if I say he’s the least smart of all of us,” Viren said dryly. “And he’s the happiest for it. There are days when I envy that too.”

“He’s become quite the athlete.”

“Yes, and I plan on supporting that more than I have. We go to his games on Fridays, as a family. You should come.”

“Only if you come to dinner. The whole family, kids, Aaravos. I want to congratulate you two properly,” Harrow finished, amused at Viren’s embarrassment. “I’m sure you can convince him.”

“I…can, yes,” Viren admitted.

“Then dinner it is,” Harrow said. “Tomorrow, if you’re not busy.”

“Oh, no, not particularly – ”

“Then I’ll see you there. Bring champagne. We’ll toast you and Aaravos, your new courses – just…life in general.”

Viren stopped protesting, vaguely moved by this sentiment before shaking the emotion off. “Very well,” he said softly.

Harrow smiled. “Thanks again for coming, old friend. It means everything today.”

And yet Viren hesitated, looking away as he placed his hand on Harrow’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said at length, “for being my friend, even if it was at times against my will.”

“You can do better than that after all these years,” Harrow said, and pulled him into an abrupt hug, arms tight around him, stealing Viren’s breath. Viren froze, but Harrow felt solid, warm enough to thaw him, nostalgic like a stuffed toy from childhood. There were no residual emotions that haunted Viren now, no reason not to return the affection. And so he placed his hands on Harrow’s back, his head resting against Harrow’s shoulder. A moment of comfort for them both, untainted by the words they had finally aired and let go.

No, the days of those complications felt suddenly gone, finally past them, scattered into the cemetery sky. The shadows that had once trailed Viren moved behind him, no longer threatening darkness over what had always been there: a loyal friend, beloved and talented children, a lover made of patience and mischief.

A path, clear and sunny now, that by all signs finally led to happiness.


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each breath I left behind  
> Each breath you take is mine  
> Walking on a line ten stories high  
> Fear a fall, you're asking why  
> Leaving the things we lost, oh  
> Leaving the ones we've crossed  
> I have to make an end so we begin  
> To save my soul at any cost
> 
> We fight every night for something  
> When the sun sets, we're both the same  
> Half in the shadows  
> Half burned in flames  
> We can't look back for nothin'  
> Take what you need, say your goodbyes  
> I gave you everything
> 
> This darkness is the light
> 
> “Beautiful Crime,” Tamer

“Are you nervous?” Aaravos asked, as Viren fiddled with the jars of reagents on the table, waiting for the buzz of the crowd to quiet, for the cameras to begin recording. A bigger crowd than Viren had imagined, Harrow and Opeli and some other Human Resources members, Claudia and Soren in the corner, too many other university officials to recall.

The press, notebooks at the ready, cameras flashing to adjust to the lights.

No students, not on a Saturday afternoon, the lecture hall stands empty.

“Yes,” Viren said. “And no. Not when you’re here.”

Aaravos smiled, a hand trailing his briefly. “Always.”

A private lecture, of sorts – one tailored to laymen, to people who would judge the safety and potential of practical magic without a true understanding of it. But that was Viren’s job, Aaravos’ job, and together Viren was certain they could make them see the light of dark magic.

“This is more than just impressing a university,” Aaravos said. “This is how we will teach the world. No more hiding. No more masks.”

Viren let out a long exhale, and nodded.

“I can cast the illusion spell if you wish,” Aaravos said. “Before they can see the effects on your appearance.”

“No,” Viren said. “Let them see.”

Aaravos looked surprised, but only for a moment, the smile curling upward, all meaning.

“Don’t look so pleased,” Viren said, “or else I’ll think you fell in love with me right this second.”

“Oh, Viren. Whatever makes you think it took that long?” Aaravos said. “I think they are ready to begin.”

“What?” Viren said, jerking his head up. “What did you – ”

But Aaravos winked at him, sauntering off to speak to Harrow.

Viren stared, for a moment the task at hand forgotten in the warmth of his blush, in the perfect words that echoed in his head.

Aaravos returned, still smug for the expression on Viren’s face.

_Love._

_I should tell him._

It felt important to tell him in this moment, just before they – 

“Aaravos, I – ”

“I know,” he murmured, with that perfect, irritating smirk. “When you’re ready.”

Viren shook his head, all fondness.

_He knows. Of course he knows._

But the thought was warm and pleasant, settling his nerves, stealing the tension from his chest.

Viren cleared his throat, the audience falling silent. He glanced at the cameras, one of the men waving the go-ahead. The little red light on the side lit up.

He took a long breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for coming to our demonstration. I would like to thank Dean Harrow King for allowing us the opportunity to truly show you what it is we teach here.”

Harrow grinned from the darkness of the corner of the room. From beside him, Opeli glared.

“Like any science,” Viren said, “magic has risks. But we do not prevent students from learning which chemical reactions to avoid in laboratory classes. We do not keep students from playing contact sports that may cause injury.”

From the sidelines, Soren gave him a thumbs-up, having given Viren this comparison the night before.

“Of course we don’t. We teach young chemists how to avoid violent reactions. We give our athletes guards and pads. But we do not stand in their way to learn. We do not stand in the way of educational progress. Today, we will show you a few of the many advantages and potential that dark magic has to offer.”

From beside him, Aaravos took Viren’s hand. The magic in his blood seeped into Viren’s skin, warm and tingly, Viren meeting Aaravos’ golden eyes for a long moment.

“Together?” Viren said.

Aaravos smiled, the expression putting Viren at ease, an effortless comfort.

“Together,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my gratitude to the readers of this story for welcoming me so enthusiastically to this fandom. A special thank you to my new Twitter friends (you know who you are 💚), whose excitement and encouragement kept me motivated and inspired. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.


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